


Beyond this Existence

by aliceslantern



Series: Beyond this Existence [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon Compliant, Existential Crisis, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Zemyx - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18076658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceslantern/pseuds/aliceslantern
Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear their tenuous connection apart.





	1. Chapter 1

I.

He kept having these dreams.

Demyx didn’t have a whole lot to do. Vexen’s words were  _ lie low _ , which was an order he had no problems following. He kept moving, spending a handful of hours here, a handful of hours there. Often, he slept to pass the time, and seemed to wake up more tired than before. He dreamt too much to get rest from sleep. Dreams about… color, mostly, bright purples and teals and pinks and white buildings. Heartless and monsters and more than that, Keyblades.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d had subconscious fireworks like these. They’d been there for a long time, but he hadn’t attributed much meaning to them. There were always Heartless, always colorful worlds. But now?

_ You four will reveal your greatest secret of all; the ancient Keyblade legacy that slumbers inside you. _

Xemnas’s words nagged him endlessly. He tried not to dwell on them, but the more he dreamt, the more he was convinced that these weren’t dreams at all, but memories.

It didn’t make sense. All these years of being the weak one, the coward, the benched spare, and now this? How much of it was just another set of lies? And why had he let himself be swept back into the Organization in the first place? 

He laid low. Kept moving. Kept waiting.

* * *

 

The thing about traveling from world to world meant time got screwy. It could have been weeks, or months, or days. Nobody came after him, called him to be unbenched. He was beyond under the radar. The sense of freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying. If they found out what he’d done, he and Vexen would be dead for sure.

But would it matter? He’d just be un-Nobodied again. He didn’t remember the second transformation, not really. It had been quick. Painless. Xigbar had insisted it was his choice, though why he would have chosen this was anybody’s guess. Was he really so gullible?

Probably.

More hours of negative time. He wondered if Roxas were back yet, if Ienzo had figured it out. Roxas’d really had it rough. And maybe this crazy plan was right, and he really  _ could _ help. The more Demyx thought about it, the more he believed Xehanort was wrong. Why do all that work, anyway? The dude really needed some hobbies.

After what felt like a long time, something changed.

A vicious storm kicked up on the world he was on, battering him with wind and rain. Cold and miserable,  he hid in a cave and tried his best to siphon water out of his clothes. The dampness felt bone-deep.

That was about when the pain started.

It felt like indigestion at first, which was all-too-probable considering the questionable things he’d been eating lately. He lay down and the pressure sharpened, catching under his breastbone and making his heart race. He hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid like accidentally poison himself, which would figure.

Again, it was hard to tell how much time was passing, but with each breath the pain seemed to worsen, like something inside him was dying, and it clicked.

The bit of Xehanort’s heart. Was this what it meant to be “unbenched?”

The agony immobilized him. Why had he done this? Why had he gone back to them? He didn’t want this, he didn’t know what he wanted, anything but this--

* * *

 

He must’ve blacked out.

The wind still howled outside. Demyx sat up slowly. He was shaky and cold and sticky with sweat, but the pain was gone. He felt at his ears--smooth, unpointed. Every muscle trembled with weakness.

He had to find Vexen. Vexen would know what had happened. He could help him. This was all his fault, somehow. After far too long he stood and nearly fainted, his vision threatening blackness. He pulled for a dark corridor but it didn’t want to come. It took three more tries but even then the stabbing pain in his chest choked off any breath.

Just a bit farther.

He fell onto his knees in Radiant Garden. Looking up the long slope of stairs into the castle, he about cried. The air here was bitterly freezing. He hugged himself tightly and tried to find the strength to get up, or even to cast Cure. His vision blurred.

“Demyx? What on earth are you doing here?”

He could’ve shouted with relief at the familiar voice. As it was, he could barely turn his head towards Dilan, everything swimming. 

The man approached him warily, but then his eyes widened. 

“Vexen,” was all Demyx could manage before passing out again.

* * *

 

It was warm here.

He woke up slowly. Everything hurt, like he’d had the worst workout of his life. Especially the muscles in his chest. He felt like he’d been stabbed.

At least this bed was warm.

It took awhile for things to sharpen and become clear and for his thoughts to feel more coherent. Where was he? Had he found Vexen? What the hell had happened? 

He sat up, expecting from some vaporous part of his mind to see the piercing whiteness of the Castle, but this room was a pale green with an old, crumbling dresser and a small table with a washbasin. His coat was neatly folded on a chair, but thankfully he hadn’t been undressed farther than that. 

He got up. Strange pinpricks of feeling washed over him in little waves, twisting his empty stomach into an anxious knot. This didn’t feel like whispers of Nobody emotion, but he’d been so sick it was hard to tell. Demyx slid on the coat. It smelled like it had been freshly washed. He splashed some water on his face and caught his reflection in the small mirror above the basin.

His eyes had gone back to teal.

“How--” he asked out loud, but before he could so  much as complete the thought, he heard the wooden door creak open. He froze.

“...I thought I heard something,” Ienzo said. “I think it’s time we had that chat.” He smiled.

Demyx found himself seated in a cramped kitchen, nursing sweet tea as Ienzo cooked oatmeal. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Ienzo said. Demyx couldn’t get over how odd he looked without his Organization cloak. “Even was worried, but I knew you’d come around.”

He clutched his mug tightly, as though for support. “What  _ happened _ ?” he asked finally. “Why are my--” He touched the skin under his eyes. It seemed difficult to talk.

“I admit we were confused about that at first, but it’s really quite simple. When Xehanort was killed, the piece of his heart that had been put inside you must have been purged. Even went through the same thing. So the good news is that you’re a vessel no longer.”

“I’m… not?” 

“It seems like you were one of the lucky ones,” Ienzo said. He ladled out two bowls and placed one in front of Demyx. “If you had been a true vessel, you probably would have perished.”

He looked down at the food. Thoughts pinged off the inside of his skull too quickly to keep track of. 

“It’ll take time for your heart to grow back and for you to adjust. Thankfully, time is something we have a lot of now.” He smiled. “Roxas and Naminé send their thanks. It’s partially because of you, after all, that they became their own people again.”

Demyx couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight and painful; it took far too long to register the fact that he was  _ feeling _ something for the first time in years. 

“You must be overwhelmed,” Ienzo continued. “I assume this reticence will pass. You should eat. Get your strength back.”

It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. Ienzo had sweetened the oatmeal with sugar and honey, and for some reason this worsened the pain. Demyx realized in an odd moment of clarity that he wasn’t used to people being nice to him. All the while Ienzo sat across from him with a patient look in his eye. Finally, after way too long, he asked, “Where are they?”

“Roxas and Naminé? I’m not quite sure. I believe they’re in Destiny Islands at the moment, with nearly everyone else.”

Tears clouded his vision. He blinked hard, trying to keep it together, but they ran anyway. He drew a shaky breath. Ienzo handed him a cloth napkin.

“Your heart might not take that long after all,” Ienzo said lightly. 

“Did you just crack a joke?” Demyx asked between sobs.

“I do have a sense of humor,” he said. “Why don’t you come get some rest?”

* * *

 

He slept most of the first day, and part of the second. Dreamless.

* * *

 

The third day it rained. In the stale cluttered mess that was once the castle’s lab, Even checked Demyx’s vitals, taking notes and muttering to himself. 

“You seem physically healthy,” he said. He sounded bored. “Now, tell me, what was the process like for you? I’m still trying to understand it.” The familiar inquisitive glint was back in his acidic green eyes. “We were the last two Nobodies whose reformation didn’t necessitate some sort of murder-suicide. It goes against almost everything we’ve learned so far.”

Demyx hesitated. “...Painful,” he said.

Even waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, he scowled. “I seem to recall a time when I could not get you to shut up. Now, when there’s actually matters of interest, suddenly you become as taciturn as Aeleus.”

Demyx looked down at his lap. Even clicked his tongue in frustration.

“I’m trying to understand so that I can help you,” Even said slowly, as if he were talking to a child. 

Demyx struggled to find the words. “It just started hurting at one point,” he said.

“Your heart?”

“Yes. Well, I guess not technically. And then the pain just got worse, and I felt like I was dying, and then I tried to open a corridor to find you, but it took a few tries. I passed out and then when I woke up it was gone.” He hoped that was enough to sate Even’s curiosity. He didn’t feel much like talking. Mostly he was just tired, and achy, and slightly numb in a scary way. 

Even scribbled rapidly. “Yes. Yes, my experience was similar. Did you experience weakness, feverishness, and delirium as well?”

“Well I did have dreams--but they’ve stopped.”

“What kind of dreams?” Even asked. He stared Demyx down. 

“I… I don’t know. This place I don’t quite remember. Something about Keyblades.”

“...Fascinating,” Even mumbled. “I wonder if you were seeing some of Xehanort’s memories.”

“...Maybe,” Demyx said. He didn’t like the thought of that at all.

“But if that fragment had bound to you so tightly, I’m surprised it let go as easily as it did. Perhaps Xehanort willed it when he passed.”

Demyx shrugged.

Even peered deeply into his eyes, as though searching for some fleck of gold left behind. “I have a favor to ask of you,” he said. He fished around in a drawer and pulled out a plain notebook. “Keep track of your dreams to see if anything like that happens again. I will as well. Maybe we can divine some meaning from them.”

Demyx sighed. “Homework?”

“This is for the advancement of important scientific research!” Even snapped. “Don’t you see what we can learn?” He shut his eyes tightly. “Why did it have to be you,” he muttered, under his breath but not softly enough. 

“Good question,” Demyx said. He took the notebook. “I’m gonna go now.”

In a haze, he set off down the hallway. This castle was basically a labyrinth; he kept getting turned around. He didn’t even have a direct destination and yet still it pissed him off. What if he  _ had _ to get somewhere?

It was also unnerving just how uninhabited this place was. There were maybe six of them here, and yet the place was huge. Maybe if it weren’t in a highly populated world it would seem less out of place, but the ambient creaking of pipes and whooshing of air in vents just made him feel… weird.

One of these days Demyx had to get to town. Get some fresh air. Figure out what the hell he was going to do now.

He stumbled upon a library. The ambient smell of dust was overwhelming, and he sneezed. Little motes glittered in the rays of sunlight from the long, high windows. The carpet, though dirty, was thick, and absorbed all sound. 

He hadn’t really, truly played sitar in days. He guessed this place probably had decent acoustics. He climbed up the wide staircase to the first landing and sat down in the sunlight. He reached to summon his sitar.

And felt nothing.

Normally the connection was instantaneous. Maybe, somehow, he was still weak from recompletion, or whatever. He tried again, pulled hard. Nothing. Another try. Just dryness. His breaths were coming faster now, less controlled. No, no. He just had to relax. He was psyching himself out. He shook himself out, cracked his neck, took a few deep breaths to try and lower his heart rate. 

He tried to summon one last time, and was left with handfuls of dead air.

Demyx stood and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could, so clumsily that he tripped on the last two and fell painfully on his left knee. He got up and kept running, tightness constricting his throat and chest. He needed to find someone who could fix this--Ienzo or Even--

Up ahead Aeleus was strolling down the hallway, carrying an armload of boxes. He turned, a befuddled look on his face. Demyx had to stop to avoid colliding right into him. His knee was smarting terrifically. 

“...Demyx?” he asked. 

He couldn’t breathe, but it had nothing to do with his mad dash. Something was unraveling. “Tell me,” he all but yelled. “Your tomahawk--do you still have it?”

Aeleus blinked, taking in his disheveled and panicked appearance. Slowly, he shook his head.

“What about Dilan’s lances? Or Even’s shield? Or Ienzo’s lexicon? Do any of us still have our weapons?”

“We have no need for such things anymore.”

“But  _ can we _ .”

Aeleus shut his eyes.

Demyx leaned against the wall, thick panic overtaking him.  _ No, I don’t want this either. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong-- _

“Are you alright?” Aeleus asked.

Demyx tried to push past him, but Aeleus grabbed his shoulder. Powers or not, his grip was like iron, and Demyx could not get free.

“You must stop panicking,” Aeleus said. “We will figure this out.”

Demyx seized Aeleus’s wrist with both hands, but still couldn’t get it to budge. 

“Take a deep breath.”

He did as he was told. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The second breath was easier, the following easier still. He felt so weak that he found he was relying on Aeleus’s grip to stay standing, holding tightly to his hand instead of fighting it.

“We should go see Even,” Aeleus said.

“Your stuff,” Demyx said.

“It’s not urgent.”

So again he found himself back in the dank basement lab. Aeleus disappeared, leaving Demyx wanting the small modicum of comfort that his presence had given. He sat on his hands.

“...Our powers are gone?” he asked dully. 

“In all probability--yes. It’s unusual for humans to have abilities as specific and powerful as we did.” Even’s eyes were stony.

“Can I get it back?”

“I never thought you cared about fighting.”

“This isn’t about fighting,” he said. “Without my sitar, I--”

Even’s lip curled. “Oh. That. I’m not certain what I could do for you, Demyx.”

A few beats of silence. He felt numb, disembodied.

“You could have a look in the marketplace. You might find something there that might help you make noise.” He said this with an exasperated toss of his hair. “Now if that is  _ all _ you’re concerned about, I have work I need to tend to.”

A cutting remark caught under the lump in his throat. For the second time that day, Demyx stormed off.

* * *

 

It was still raining.

The steady patter of the storm against the window was something to hold onto. He felt like he were being suspended over a pit, about to fall.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. He exhaled.

Ienzo poked his head in. He carried a small bundle of fabric. “Sorry to intrude. Ansem suggested you might like something else to wear, other than… that.” He gestured to the cloak. “Doubtful you’ll need its protection any time soon.”

Demyx said nothing.

Ienzo put the clothes on the dresser. He crossed his arms tightly for a moment, then let go. “I realize this process has not been easy for you--” He tripped over his words, clearly uncomfortable. 

An understatement. 

“I failed to make the connection. I didn’t realize that gaining your humanity would result in another type of loss. But of course your connection to your power must have run deeply.”

“It’s just always been there,” he said. “I feel like part of me has died.”

A long moment of silence. “Yes. I imagine it would.”

“Don’t you feel the same way?” Demyx asked, turning fully towards him for the first time. “I mean, in a sick way, becoming Nobodies kind of brought out the best parts of us.”

Ienzo’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hair almost entirely obscuring his face. Quite quietly, he said, “I disagree.”

Demyx felt his face flush. He’d been there for the emotional reunion between Ansem the Wise--in a way he had made it happen--but of course at the time he hadn’t put any significance in it, because it hadn’t affected him.  _ Of course _ Ienzo would feel that way. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. A hot feeling washed over him. How could he take it back? It was true, after all, for him.

“I’ll let you rest,” Ienzo said, and left.

* * *

 

He took a bath, his first in far too long. Washing up in streams and with powers could only do so much good. Despite the knots of tension and gross, sticky emotion welling up inside of him, the warm water was soothing. He hadn’t meant to linger longer than necessary, but the quiet and warmth made it easier to think. Each revelation was bigger and messier than the last.

He was human.

No more Xehanort, no more vessel. For the first time in years he was his own person again. Not Demyx the Nobody, not Demyx the benched. Just… whoever this person left behind was. How much of his personality was just a lie based on memory?

He was powerless.

He’d miss it, but he could deal without power over water. It was dead practical and it could be gorgeous at times, too. For the longest time his sitar was the only constant in his life, in a time without friends or even alliances. He’d always told himself he didn’t need any of that. Not if he had music. And to a degree Even was right; Arpeggio wasn’t the only instrument that existed. It just that that sitar knew him so well; it was laced not so much with feeling, but with memory. It had seen what he’d seen, done most of what he’d done. It was basically the only part of him worth salvaging, and now it was gone. 

He was stuck here.

No power meant no dark corridors. For the foreseeable future, he was stuck here in Radiant Garden. And he’d just snapped at the one person who had shown him any least bit of kindness.

So, really, he was fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx tries to adjust to life in Radiant Garden, but an awkward dinner party only serves to worsen his anxiety surrounding Arpeggio.

II.

The clothing Ansem had lent him was simple and suited the still-warm fall weather. Jeans. A faded blue t-shirt, a sweater. It must have once been worn by someone else; one of the knees had been darned. Putting on civilian clothes for the first time in years was an odd experience, to say the least. In a way he felt naked. But this was what everyone else did. This was part of moving on, whatever that meant.

What did it mean?

He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Yesterday’s rain subsided, he figured he would go into town, just to get some fresh air. It was dank and damp enough inside this castle.

He hadn’t gotten more than a few steps down the hallway before Ansem’s voice stopped him. “Oh, good. Everything fit. We had to guess at your size.”

Ansem the Wise, too, looked odd without the frame of the black coat. He was dressed in white, nearly identical to Ienzo aside from the red sash draped across his shoulder. His faze was wizened and a little peaked, like he was coming off a bout of extreme illness. 

“Thanks for doing that,” Demyx said. He didn’t really mean it, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I admit it was partially for selfish reasons. I can’t bear to look at those coats anymore. Not after all that has happened.”

“Yeah, I get you.” Even though he didn’t. 

A few beats of silence. He couldn’t really get a feel for Ansem. When he’d retrieved him initially, it had been entirely perfunctory. “We must return to the castle,” and all that. And Demyx had been too caught up in patting himself on the back for doing  _ something _ worthwhile for once. 

“I must say that, now that this is all said and done, it’s good to have you here,” Ansem said. “At least we have the comfort of familiar faces as we try to piece our lives back together.”

Some comfort, Demyx thought. “Sure. That.”

“Know that you are welcome here,” Ansem continued. “You’ve helped immensely, though I doubt you realize it. I’d be happy to help make this your home.”

“It’s not exactly like I have other options.” His attempt at joking fell flat, came out sounding rude instead. “I’m stuck here. You know.”

Ansem smiled stiffly. “Yes. Quite.”

From one of the nearby doorways, Demyx heard Ienzo’s voice. “I’m all set, Master. I seem to have misplaced some of my papers.” He came out with a text crammed full of pages of notes. He caught sight of Demyx and his smile faltered somewhat. “Shall we get started?”

“What are you guys up to?” he asked slowly.

Ansem and Ienzo exchanged a glance. “Tying up some loose ends,” Ansem said.

“Well. Have fun I guess.”

They passed by him, trading heavy terms meaningless to Demyx. 

_ I don’t belong here. _ The thought came unbidden, adding to the sourness in his stomach. He set off towards town.

* * *

 

The marketplace had grown since the last time Demyx was in Radiant Garden. The restoration had brought back the town’s old beauty. It was one of the liveliest, most colorful places he’d been in a while.

Nobody recognized him. Why would they? Even though he assumed people must have been warned about the Organization, it wasn’t like they could connect him to it without the coat. And most of the time he’d kept his face covered. Still, it was… uncomfortable, to say the least, to see the same people he’d seen in recon missions look back at him, even if so just in passing.

The marketplace had just about everything. Weapons, armor, food, clothing, stalls and stalls of the local flowers as cheap as half a munny each, pots and pans, books, any amount of knick-knacks and geegaws. He decided he would spent his time window shopping, though he only had the few hundred munny that had been stuffed in the pocket of his coat. 

What he hadn’t fully anticipated was the upselling.

Demyx had spent more time in marketplaces across the World than he could care to account for. They were great places to get information and overhear conversations, especially around people who let their guards down in all the noise. He hadn’t ever spent much time as a customer. If he wanted something, he either waited until nightfall or had to be sneaky, leaving behind handfuls of money near whatever served as a till. 

“Best buns in the city,” someone cried from a baker’s cart.

“These earrings would look  _ lovely _ with your eyes.” The jeweller. 

“We’ve got swords and daggers for all kindsa folks. Ain’t nobody should wander around unprotected.” The blacksmith.

“Candy for your sweet tooth?” A chocolatier.

The noise and attention was starting to irritate him, making him dizzy with overstimulation. The colors and items seemed to blend together until he could barely distinguish one from the next. It had never bothered him before. What was different?

He crossed into a quieter part of the market, trying to catch his breath. Even though it was fall, the sunlight was hot and was making him sweat. 

“Are you new here?” someone asked. “I haven’t seen you in town before.”

Demyx looked up. It was one of the ubiquitous flower stalls, but here the arrangements were less haphazard, more graceful. A young woman about his age was potting a bloom he didn’t recognize. 

“I… guess you could say that,” he said. “I was just looking for somebody that sells instruments.” Not that he would be able to afford it. 

“There’s a travelling stall that pops up once every few weeks. I don’t think they’re in the rotation yet,” she said. Her face was familiar for some reason, the brown braid and green eyes. Then again half of these people looked familiar. “Are you a musician?”

“Yeah. I’m… uh… I play sitar. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it. It’s not that common.”

She looked up at him and peered at him more closely. Her hands had stopped moving. Did she know? Demyx had no idea how much the townspeople knew about the Organization, old or “true”. For all he knew there might have been “wanted” posters of them up. 

“Like in Agrabah,” she said. “I know that’s part of their culture.”

Demyx relaxed slightly. “Yeah, sort of. My old one was different than their models, it had fewer strings, but I liked theirs too. I found the sound could get a little chaotic. Hard to carry a good melody line. Nice drone effect, though. I haven’t heard anything like it since.” Great, now he was rambling.

She brushed the dirt off her hands. “So you’re a traveler?” 

He tensed. “Uh… used to be.” Of course. People here knew about other worlds and didn’t hesitate to talk all about them. That was what happened when your world came back after falling to darkness. You either died, became a Heartless and Nobody, or got cast away to some other world.

“Used to be? So you aren’t passing through?”

“No, it looks like I might be here awhile.” He laughed awkwardly. 

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.” She watered the freshly potted purple and blue flowers. “Here. This is for you. Think of it as a welcome gift.”

He reached for his money, but she shook her head.

“It’s alright. There will be more flowers.” She passed the pot over the table and Demyx took it. It wasn’t heavy, but he fought the weight of it grounding.

“Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Any time. I mean, Radiant Garden is all put back together, so I guess we’re more of a welcome committee than anything else now.” She smiled. 

“...Welcome committee?”

She wiped her hands off on a cloth. “Oh, that’s right. I’m Aerith. I’m part of the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. He took it with his free one, a cold feeling seeping over his body.

Of course. That’s why she looked familiar. This was that pocket of resistance that the Organization had tried to squash in this world. “...You too,” he said numbly.

“I didn’t get your name,” Aerith said.

_ Because if I gave it you’d probably smash this pot over my head. _ “It’s… uh…” but before he had to make up an alias, a short-haired teenage girl pushed past him talking at Aerith at a hundred miles an hour. 

“Scrooge brought us cake!” The girl said cheerfully, hefting a pastry box. “From Little Chef’s Bistro! I’ve been nagging that bastard about it for weeks!”

“Yuffie, he did us a favor.”

“Favor, my ass. Who rebuilt this town?”

Demyx chose the moment of chaos to try and slip away. 

“Who’s that?”

“A customer. New in town.”

“He looks familiar.”

“I thought so too.”

He half expected the women to come after him, so he quickened his pace.

“...You got a fork in that bag?”

After all that nonsense, the castle was a welcome sight. He mounted the dozens of stairs, cursing his lack of power all the more. He brought the little plant into his makeshift bedroom and set it on the windowsill. It looked rather pretty in the light. He found he was feeling more tired than usual and lay down to take a nap.

* * *

 

“...Demyx?” Ienzo shook him gently.

He sat up from an aqueous sleep, thin dreams of Keyblades and too many flowers vanishing before he could remember he needed to write them down. Daylight was dying, leaving a bright pink sunset.

“I’m sorry to wake you. We’re all having dinner and Ansem was wondering if you might like to join us.” He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot with bruise-colored bags.

To think of it, he was absolutely starving. He’d barely eaten all day. “Yeah. Thanks.” He sighed. “I’m sorry if what I said bothered you.”

Ienzo cocked his head slightly. “That’s alright,” he said. His tone was unreadable. “You meant what you said. You just don’t understand.” Simple, matter of fact.

_ Ouch. _ But not uncalled for. “No. I guess I don’t.” 

Together they went down the labyrinthine hallways, past the kitchen where Demyx had normally been eating the past few days, to a part of the castle that was much brighter than the rest. They crossed a closed-in bridge, the rich lace curtains on its windows billowing slightly in the rosy light.

“Swanky place,” Demyx said.

“Master Ansem’s quarters,” Ienzo said. “He likes the northernmost light.”

“Why do you call him  “Master”?” Demyx asked. The word had sent a slimy sensation down his spine. He couldn’t help but think of Master Xehanort.

“Because I am his apprentice, and he deserves respect.”

“Are you, though? I mean, you’ve been doing this all on your own. Feels kinda like he just slipped back into place and took all the credit for the work you did getting Roxas and Naminé new bodies.” 

Ienzo turned slightly. “Not to be rude, Demyx, but if I sought your opinion on the matter, I would ask for it.”

Whoa! “Sorry,” he said. 

“That’s quite all right.” 

Ienzo pushed open a set of heavy mahogany double doors. Ansem’s quarters were large, borderline kingly; it had once been a gorgeous place but had fallen into serious disrepair. The pale green damask wallpaper was torn and curling, and the simple crystal lighting and chandeliers were broken or hanging by wires. The rich Oriental rug, once bright, was sun bleached and had water damage. A ladder and a set of tools sat nearby. He must be working on it in his spare time. 

A large round table was set for them all, the same mahogany as the built-in bookcases and the double doors. Aeleus, Dilan, Even, and Ansem were already there. Demyx took the last remaining spot between Dilan and Aeleus, feeling a little cluttered by their collective bulk. Ienzo slipped at Ansem’s right hand side. A finely cooked roast, scalloped potatoes, and roast green beans were set out. It all looked amazing.

“Sorry. I didn’t know I was holding you all up,” Demyx said.

“No harm, no foul,” Ansem said. “Please, everyone. Help yourselves.”

The each took what they wanted. Demyx couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real, full, cooked dinner. He wanted nothing more than to stuff his face, but their air in the room was so stiff and formal. He tried to straighten his posture and pulled his elbows off the table. Nobody touched their food, and Demyx wondered if Ansem was religious, and if they were waiting for some sort of prayer. But as soon as Ansem started eating, everyone else did too. Soft chatter broke out across the table. Ienzo, Even, and Ansem deep in talk of research; Dilan and Aeleus discussing matters outside the castle, practically over him.

_ I don’t care, _ Demyx told himself, but something like pain was making the otherwise delicious meal taste like paste. “Who made this?” he asked. “Everything’s really good.”

Ienzo looked away Ansem. “That would be me. Thank you, Demyx.” And back into the conversation he went. 

Plate empty, Demyx wondered how long to wait before he excused himself. At least if he were alone in his room it wouldn’t be so painful. But then Arpeggio’s absence would be all the more noticeable. He drew thin patterns of  gravy on the plate with his fork. 

“Wine, Demyx?” Dilan asked, startling him. He passed a half-full decanter of red wine. He poured a small glass, tracing the fine edges of crystal. The wine was sweeter than expected for a red, and went down easily. He took a second one; nobody was watching him.

The chatter continued. Ienzo stood to collect the empty plates, but Demyx stopped him. “I got it. You’re busy. Where can I take them?”

“Kind of you,” Ienzo said. He looked genuinely caught off guard. “The kitchen is through that door there.”

Ansem’s kitchen was much nicer than theirs, or at least it had once been. The pale gray tile badly needed a scrub and half of the burners were rusty. A covered cake-plate sat on the counter, presumably for later. At least here, elbow-deep in soapy water, he could pretend he was just doing a favor instead of sitting at the table feeling miserable.

He didn’t belong here.

They all knew each other. They all liked each other. They had years of memories, their bonds strengthened and then weakened and then strengthened again by their new humanity and the defeat of Xehanort. He was a stranger. The only reason they probably kept him was their new hearts’ morality whispering that kicking him out would be wrong.

He didn’t belong here.

The water was uncomfortably cold and his breathing had hitched. Demyx reached into the murky water to pull the drain’s plug. Something cut into his palm; an absurdly sharp carving knife hiding at the bottom of the sink. The blood welled and began to drip, turning the water pink. He stared at it, completely unable to move, his chest aching, each breath harder than the last. He couldn’t even heal it if he tried.

_ Grab a towel, you fuckwit. You’re getting blood everywhere. _

His bleeding hand trembled. He tried to move with the other. Were there no fucking dishtowels in here? He had to wrap this in something. It didn’t seem to want to stop bleeding, and he was feeling dizzy now. He couldn’t have possibly lost that much to make a real difference.

Footsteps in the kitchen. Ienzo had come for the cake. 

“What on earth--” he began. 

“Knife in the sink,” Demyx hissed. “There’s no towel or anything--”

“That must’ve been my mistake. I am so sorry.” He untied his cravat and held it out towards Demyx, who couldn’t take it. Ienzo’s eyes widened. He took Demyx’s bloody hand and guided it under the tap, rinsed it and tied the purple cloth around it. “I think you’re having a panic attack,” he said gently.

No shit.

“Try and take a deep breath for me, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

Breathing hurt. He felt weak. Ienzo helped him sit on the floor. Demyx started counting to ten, silently. Just ten more breaths and it would be fine.

Once he was calm enough to be embarrassed, Ienzo asked, “Was that the first time it happened?”

He shook his head. “I had one yesterday.”

Ienzo’s brow furrowed. “Do you have a history of this happening?”

Demyx shook his head again. “I don’t think so. But a lot of that time is hard to remember.”

“What time? When you were human?”

He nodded.

“Do you know what it is that triggered you?”

Of course he did. Years of being ignored and belittled slapped him all at once, and it didn’t seem like it would change any time soon. “No,” he lied.

“That’s alright. None of this readjustment is easy. It’s most likely stress you’re not used to feeling. I don’t think this sort of thing is permanent.” 

“I’m sorry.” Despite the nap, he was even more tired than before.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Demyx stood up slowly. His hand, now that the shock and panic had worn off, was throbbing. “I’m going to go lay down.”

He nodded. “You must be exhausted.”

Demyx went back into the dining room and tried to come up with an excuse; as it was it seemed like nobody had even noticed he was gone. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx seeks Even's help in investigating the validity of his supposed Keyblade legacy. Ienzo has a project for him.

III.

The cut had stopped bleeding overnight, leaving a red, angry scab that cracked easily. Demyx woke up feeling absolutely exhausted. For a while he watched the silvery-blue petals of his little plant sway in the faint breeze, utterly at a loss for what to do.

He was going to have to deal with this sometime.

What was he going to do now?

No more Organization. No more obligations. But instead of feeling freed, mostly he felt… dangerously untethered. If he had Arpeggio it would be a completely different story. With it, he could write and compose and experiment to his heart’s content. But without it… he really wasn’t much of anything. 

The slickness of anxiety caught in his throat again, but he choked it off. No. He was  _ not _ going to break down again. He’d just have to… find someone to bother, something to do. Anything to escape this feeling.

_ I hate being human. _

Demyx decided to explore the castle. Maybe he would feel better if he had a more solid grip of his surroundings. The place was huge, after all.  _ Some _ of it had to be interesting. He thought of it like a recon mission. Maybe something would help him figure out how to get out of here.

But then where would he go? Home?

The thought sent a pulse of pain through his head. Where… was home?

His memories were muddy and indistinct, more of the same blurry colors he’d seen recurring in his dreams. Only this time there other people, four or five of them, men and women in colorful robes and animal masks--

\-- _ legacy that sleeps within you-- _

He gasped and choked on spit.

_ I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. _

Why had Xemnas told them that, if only to go and die right afterwards?

He went to Even. In the lab, he was stooped over notes, flicking through brittle, yellowed pages every few seconds, his long blonde hair draping over the desk in front of him. Demyx knocked on the open door with his good hand.

“What do you want?” Even asked, barely looking up.

For a moment, Demyx nearly left. He didn’t  _ have _ to tell Even about this. But Even had more facts. Even could help him see more clearly. He was about to wonder if understanding was something he  _ did _ want when Even caught sight of his bandaged palm. 

“What did you do to yourself now?”

“Last night, at the dinner party. Cut myself when I was doing dishes.”

Even stood and approached him. He unwrapped the purple cloth. “Right across your lifeline. Some cultures would consider that unlucky.”

Demyx reached to take the cloth back, but Even held onto it. 

“This thing’s filthy. I might not have any magic, but I can at least provide adequate care.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a roll of cloth bandages and a jar of some sort of salve. He pulled on a rubber glove and rubbed the salve into the wound. It burned terrifically. Once the wound was cleaned and bandaged, Even turned away. “Well, if that’s all you came for, would you do me a favor and leave me be? I’m in the middle of something important.”

Demyx felt anger rising in him, but he quashed it down. “That’s not why I came. Remember how you told me to keep track of my dreams?”

“My memory is very good.”

“They weren’t dreams at all. They were memories. But I don’t think they were his.” He exhaled. “They were mine.”

Even didn’t seem happy. “Oh. Is that all?”

He grit his teeth. And then he told Even about that day in the Keyblade graveyard, about Xemnas’s bombshell. 

Even was silent for several seconds. “Are you… quite sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

More silence. Demyx could heard the analog clock on the desk ticking softly. 

“That was… from the time of fairy tales. Many, many years ago. I had  _ believed  _ that was all legend… but then… well, if the X-blade has been forged again, who knows what else might be true?” He crossed his arms. “Biologically speaking, you’re barely in your twenties. If that were all true, then somehow you would be hundreds of years old.”

Cold, existential sweat gathered under his arms. 

“And if that were the case, then--how did you get here? And why?”

“I don’t know.” He thought he might be sick. “I barely remember… everything’s gotten so fuzzy.”

“I don’t believe it,” Even said. “It must’ve been some sort of ploy… something to give you neophytes purpose… then again…” He came close to Demyx, seized a handful of his hair, and pulled.

He yelped in pain. “Hey! What are you--”

Even took the few blond strands he’d harvested and put them in a small sample bag. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Sit down. I need blood.” He rummaged around in the cabinets and came back with a different box. 

He hadn’t heard anything more threatening. “What--”

Even seized Demyx’s bad arm and rubbed a cold, wet prep pad against his elbow. “I need samples. I wonder if there’s any dating technique that could tell us more about this situation.”

“...Dating?” he asked.

“For your DNA,” Even said, exasperated, as though it were obvious. “And to see how your other cells might have been impacted by whatever means of preservation  that brought you to current day. That is, if any of this is true and not some lotus flower Xehanort was feeding you. There must have been something. This is your original body, yes? I think I’d have remembered making a replica for you.”

“It better fucking be,” Demyx said. He flinched when Even stuck him with a needle, but didn’t fight it. As cunning and cruel Even could be, if he was interested he would do the utmost to figure it out. All Demyx had to do was comply. 

He took six vials of blood in total, enough to make Demyx a bit woozy, considering he’d also lost a good amount last night. He took spit, nail clippings, cheek swabs, and some skin cells. 

“I dearly hope this isn’t a waste of my time,” Even said. “But imagine the possibilities… and why you? Why not? I don’t pretend to understand Xehanort. Not at all. It’s an awful lot of effort for vessels he could have just made…” His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke to himself. “I’ve all I need. I let you know if there’s more. You may go.”

Dizzily, he went to the library. He knew the worlds had different time streams, but there was no way it had been hundreds of years since the first time he was human. Time streams were different, but not  _ that _ different. 

The library was so staggeringly full, each shelf crammed with more books than he could count, books in all different subjects; psychology, biology, chemistry, literature, multiple different languages, religion, theology, photography. The words started to blur together. He found the history section. Volumes and volumes about Radiant Garden, and some about a few other worlds that sounded familiar, but not much else. No lore. No legends.

“What is it that you’re looking for in here?” Ienzo asked. He was passing by the same section, carrying several books.

“I was trying to find something about the age of fairy tales,” Demyx said. “I want to know more about that time.”

Ienzo looked confused. “That sort of thing is oral history,” he said. “There are very, very few printed volumes that survive from that time. Ansem may be a collector of rare books, but even he could never get his hands on something like that. Why is it you ask?”

Demyx hesitated. He couldn’t even be sure what Xemnas had told him wasn’t a lie. Maybe he’d just completely made up those memories, or maybe they’d been planted when he was a vessel. He forced a laugh. “I was just bored, is all. Wanted to know more about what I just got myself out of.”

Ienzo nodded slowly. “It’s unfortunate, but a lot of history from that time is just… lost and shadowed in legend. Perhaps that’s why Xehanort was trying to recreate the Keyblade war. Perhaps he wanted to understand it for himself.”

“...Maybe,” Demyx said lamely.

“Ansem might know more,” Ienzo said. “He studied quite a bit of mythology when he began his experiments. I could ask him for you. I admit, I’ve never seen you become intellectually involved in anything.”

“I just want to know,” he said, a bit more sharply than intended.

Ienzo frowned. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I’m just…” Demyx exhaled. “Trying to figure things out. And I have no idea where to start. I don’t even have my sitar. I don’t really have much of anything. And I’m not meant to be here.”

He blinked. “Not… meant…?”

“Face it. I’m just here because you are all too nice to get rid of me. None of you even  _ like _ me. I don’t share a past with you, and I’m not a scientist.” He was starting to get worked up again.

Ienzo seemed to be at a loss for words. “Do you really judge your own worth using others’ opinions?” he asked after a tense moment.

“Of course I do,” Demyx said. “How can you not?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you haven’t felt welcome.”

He shook his head. Tears pricked in his eyes and he blinked them back. “I have nowhere else to go,” he said. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you.” A strange emotion twisted inside of him. Words caught in his throat. He wanted, no,  _ needed _ to talk to someone. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Ienzo said, but his voice was halting. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie. I’m not your problem.” He tried to force a smile. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

* * *

 

The day passed in a sort of haze. He shifted from room to room in the castle, but the features and layout didn’t want to stick in his mind. His chest was hurting again, dully, and after awhile he realized the pain was anxiety. Demyx got himself spectacularly lost, and by the time he found his way back up to his room, it was time to eat. He heated some soup which sat in the old-fashioned fridge and picked at it.

He hated how quiet things felt. 

He’d burnt out artistically a few times, awful weeks where he couldn’t compose anything worth listening to if his life depended on it. This felt just like that, but ten times worse. He felt as though he were… forgetting, somehow. He glanced down at the calluses on his left hand, partially obscured by bandages. 

“There you are. I was hoping I’d see you around.” Ienzo had shed his coat, and the sweater beneath was a warm shade of gray. He held a sheaf of crumpled, yellowed, and brittle pages. “I asked Ansem about the age of fairy tales. He doesn’t have any texts, but after some digging, I found this. He doesn’t know I took it from his library. He’s been… somewhat unobservant lately.”

“What is it?” Demyx asked.

“I only saw the first page, so I’m not quite certain. Perhaps we may look at it together. Come to think of it, somebody should create  _ some _ record of that time. We can’t repeat history a third time.” His voice was fast, excited.

“I smell a new project for you,” Demyx said. 

“Yes. Perhaps. When I am done with my current research.” The joy in his expression drained, and he sat down across from Demyx.

“What's that?”

“...I'm… trying to help Sora,” Ienzo said.

“What’s wrong with him?” Demyx couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth; he had nothing but bad memories of Sora. 

“He’s vanished. He overstretched his power… and disappeared from this world entirely. I'm hoping that something in our old research might help the guardians of light find him. I am not so sure. You can only meddle with the forces in this world so much before there are natural, irreversible consequences. The guardians are… naturally quite cut up about it. He and I had formed something of a rapport as well. As much as I wish for him to be whole… I don’t want to give myself false hope.”

“...Whoa,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“There’s never a moment wasted in researching,” Ienzo said. “For all I know, there’s some clue in these papers. And I think you can help me.”

“Me?” he asked incredulously. “What happened to “I’ve never seen you intellectually interested in anything?””

“Have a look.” Ienzo shuffled the fragile papers towards Demyx and opened to the first page. “While my scientific education has been excellent, admittedly it is somewhat lacking in the arts. I only have the most basic skills when it comes to music theory. This… seems more up your alley.”

It was a full-length musical score. Demyx touched the papers. It was some of the most intricate composition works he had ever seen; the meters were odd, all over the place, somehow flowing coherently. Trills, flourishes, complicated dynamics--just looking at it made his heart race. The way the treble and bass clef mingled was so graceful.

Beneath there were lyrics in another language he couldn’t understand.

“They’re ancient runes. I’ve studied them a little. But I recognize the characters for “Keyblade”, and they’re in there.” 

Demyx read the score, his fingers itching to hear it out loud. 

“Perhaps you can help me?” Ienzo asked.

“I need an instrument,” he said. “It’s too complex to sing.”

“There’s an old piano in Ansem’s quarters. We can have Aeleus and Dilan move it to an empty study space. I’m sure it’ll need tuning.”

“I can do that.” Something about this score gave him hope. He wasn’t sure what. “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for reading and commenting! This story took off more than I thought it would.
> 
> For my own amusement, I've been writing the story from Ienzo's point of view as well, and finding it to be pretty fascinating. Would anybody be interested in reading it as a companion or a bonus piece? Let me know in the comments.
> 
> See you next Monday! -A


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx and Ienzo begin working on their project, but it makes Demyx realize the gaps in his own memory.

IV.

They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the space. Full of dust and dirt, Ienzo insisted it needed a good cleaning before anything else. While Demyx swept and mopped, Ienzo came back with a small cart of books, left, and came back with more.

“For how insistent you were with the cleaning, I figured you’d be helping me,” Demyx said.

“It’s more efficient if we split our labor,” Ienzo said, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face. 

Dilan and Aeleus carefully maneuvered the old piano into the space. Ienzo kept bringing books; so many books.

“I hate to break away from my work once I’ve started,” he said. “I’d rather be overcautious with materials than not.”

Demyx studied the old upright. The varnish was scratched, and the whole thing was wobbly on its wheels. He bolstered the sides with a few blocks of wood. The old keys were real ivory, but worn and discolored from their years of neglect. He pressed the first key he saw and flinched at how out of tune it was. This was going to be harder than he thought.

For hours he stood over the piano back with a pair of pliers, trying to get the thing into something resembling key. The wire inside was brittle, and he had to turn millimeter by millimeter, so as to not break any of it. Demyx expected Ienzo to run off, but instead he watched; occasionally up close, his long silver hair nearly touching the wires, occasionally in a chair, with a book open in his lap. 

“You must have a very good ear,” Ienzo remarked quietly. “To tell such minute differences.”

“Well, I would hope so.” His arm was starting to cramp up, but he couldn’t switch hands because the cut was too tender to take the repetitive motion strain. It had been a long while since he’d had to let a wound heal naturally. It seemed to be taking forever. “We wouldn’t have to to all this if I just had my sitar.” He twisted the last wire into place and rolled his shoulder to try and loosen the tension in his muscles. “That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”

Ienzo touched a key experimentally. “Much better.”

“Still a bit flat, but I was afraid to pull much harder, especially on the higher notes. I doubt there’s any spare piano wire hanging around. It’s not exactly a commodity.” He played a chord. “It’s bearable, at least.”

He nodded. “Shall we get to work, then?”

His expression slipped. “Now? Don’t you want to take a break first?”

“Why? There’s still so much of the day left.”

Demyx rolled his shoulders again. “My arms kinda hurt.”

Ienzo sighed. “I could do with some lunch.”

* * *

 

After some sandwiches, they returned back to the study room. The books were spread in uneven piles. Ienzo frowned. “I didn’t realize I left these so… disorganized.” He started picking up books and arranging them.

Demyx sat back down at the piano. The bench creaked slightly. He started with a few basic scales, trying to remember how it felt to play piano. It felt off, wrong. He longed for the smooth steel strings of his sitar. 

Ienzo raised an eyebrow. “You look uncomfortable.”

“Just trying to warm up.”

Ienzo kept shifting the books back and forth. First, he organized them by color; then alphabetically (if the letters he was mumbling meant anything); then chronologically by subject. It was making Demyx anxious. He slipped in his scales. His left hand was aching and he flexed it. “Is your wound bothering you?” Ienzo asked.

“Just a bit stiff,” he said, and forced a smile. When at last the scales were coming naturally, he turned to the yellowing text. Ienzo pulled his chair close to the piano bench. 

The piece was hard to sight-read. While of course Demyx knew how to read and write music well, for him it was usually an afterthought when his pieces were finished. It was always a bit harder to get into if it were on paper. He was confident he could have played this for the first time fairly well on sitar, but he found himself stumbling again and again on easy passages. And this was just the master score; this wasn’t even reading into the section delineations. His face burned with embarrassment. 

He played through the first movement sloppily and then pressed his hands between his knees.

“It’s lovely,” Ienzo commented. “But--rather sad. I wonder what it means.”

Demyx had been focusing too hard on the technical bits to notice the emotion in the song. “Could just be what was on their mind when they wrote it.”

“Perhaps. We’ll know more when I translate. Keep going. I’ll try to remember the rhythm of the sung phrases.”

He did so. The second movement was even more complicated than the first, until it seemed like every second note Demyx played was a mistake. That wasn’t even counting for botched phrasing. What kind of meter  _ was  _ this? He checked quickly; at least the numbering wasn’t ancient. 29/16? Fucking hell. That made no sense at all.

Third movement. Ienzo was leaning forward slightly, his head bowed, listening intently. It seemed like he wanted to hear  _ all  _ of it; and there was a lot of this score, hundreds of pages. There was just no way. A thin film of sweat broke out across Demyx’s body. He was used to music being relatively effortless, but this was taking all of his concentration. 

Fourth, then fifth. Demyx cursed whoever had written this for their inconstant use of meter and the tricky keys and accidentals. He was halfway into the sixth movement when his left hand started to ache, then hurt; and far into the eighth when Ienzo’s stupor seemed to break and he seized Demyx’s shoulder.

“Stop. Your hand,” he said.

Demyx turned his palms over. His wound had split open and was bleeding, leaving faint reddish smears all over the keys. Ienzo grabbed one of the cleaning rags and tightened it over the first soaked bandage. With another, Demyx started cleaning at the ivory, discordant notes ringing out.

“Leave it. You probably need stitches,” Ienzo said. 

“It’ll get stained if I don’t,” Demyx said. There was a weird undertone to his own voice. 

“That’s all right.” Ienzo stood. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Put pressure on it. About that much.” He squeezed Demyx’s right hand to demonstrate. 

He put pressure on the injury. He realized his head was positively pounding, in time with his pulse just like his hand. He was sweaty, weak; he had no idea why. And for some reason the feeling of Ienzo squeezing his hand wouldn’t go away.

Ienzo returned quickly with a small black bag. He knelt down in front of Demyx and took the offending hand. “Bleeding seems to have stopped. I suppose i must have misjudged how deeply the wound ran the other night.”

“Even did too,” Demyx said weakly.

“That’s odd,” Ienzo said. “I usually trust his judgement with these things.” He unwrapped the bandages and dabbed on more of the stinging salve. He pulled out a curved needle and what looked like thread. “I’m sorry, this  _ will _ hurt. But it won’t heal correctly otherwise.”

Demyx braced himself and shut his eyes. He tried not to flinch away when the needle bit his skin, but the pain was sharp and intense. 

“Steady,” Ienzo said.

Each stitch seemed more painful than the last. He bit his lip but couldn’t stop tears from running down his face. Finally Ienzo was done, and rewrapped the wound. His hand was throbbing, and he could barely move his fingers without causing more pain.

“Nine stitches,” Ienzo said. “Rather auspicious.”

“It fucking kills.”

“I can’t see how it would be… pleasant. Nonetheless, I think you should let your wound heal before we continue.” He sat down next to Demyx. “Of course, I should like to do some translation work. If it’s all the same to you, I can translate, and you can rest. For today… i think this is enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said dryly. 

“I am curious, though. How many instruments can you play? I shouldn’t have assumed your mastery of piano, though you are rather skilled in that regard.”

His question caught Demyx off guard. He exhaled. “Well, I mean I don’t really know. Sitar, obviously. Stringed instruments tend to come really naturally to me. I don’t have much experience with brass or woodwind, but if I looked at it for a little while, I could probably pick it up. It just seems to make sense to me. You know?”

“Fascinating,” Ienzo said. “So you’ve no formal training?”

“Not that I can remember. I mean,  _ some _ one must have taught me how to read and write music.” Thinking about it was making his headache worsen. 

“What else can’t you remember?” he asked. His expression had become troubled.

Demyx whistled. “Well, I mean, a lot, really. My past is… kind of blurry.”

“That’s… peculiar.” He crossed his arms. “Did you remember your past as a Nobody? The first time you were one, anyway.”

Something hot surged inside of him, and he was nearly sick. His vision started to go gray at the edges.

“Demyx?” Ienzo asked. “Are you alright?”

He crumpled and fell forward off the bench. He was conscious just long enough to see Ienzo’s shocked expression.

* * *

 

“...checked his blood count. Everything is normal but the sugar and iron were low. I’m sure that explains the fainting. What you consider a trigger is no doubt a coincidence.”

The headache was gone, but his skull felt weirdly warm. Someone had put him in bed, tucked the covers around him. The weight was comforting.

“I’m not so sure. He had mentioned something about lacking memory. Why is it that when I tried to prod, he had this reaction?”

“Ienzo, you know as well as I do that Demyx has a bit of a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps he just wanted some attention. Your worry is misplaced.”

“...Even, do you have all your memories?”

“Of course I do! I think I would know if that were not the case.”

“How odd. How odd…”

“His heart is not yet complete. That may have something to do with it.”

“I’m going to take a look at my notes regardless.”

“Still, this brings up the matter of our diet. I had suspected it is somewhat lacking, too high in carbs. Perhaps we can go down to the marketplace and find something more nutritious…”

The voices trailed off. Demyx sat up. He felt a bit sick to his stomach, and his first inclination was to sink back under the covers and sleep. His eyes caught the little plant on the windowsill. Some of the petals were browning at the edges. Demyx touched the soil; it was still moist from the last time it had been watered. It get getting plenty of light. What was wrong with it?

His door creaked open. Ienzo came in, carrying a glass of water. “Oh good, you’re conscious. How are you feeling?”

“...Weird,” he said. “I don’t know why that happened.”

“You’re a tad anemic. And your blood sugar was low.” He pulled two small bottles full of pills out of his coat pocket. “Even recommended you take some supplements. And I brought some mild painkillers for your hand. No doubt it’s several weeks’ of malnutrition catching up to you. I’m sure it was hard to come by good food when you were hiding.” 

Demyx took one of each of the little pills. He found he was surprisingly thirsty, which was a feeling he’d had to get used to ever since he lost his powers. 

Ienzo looked towards the window. “That’s a lovely illumina plant. Where did you get that?”

“Oh. Someone at the marketplace gave it to me. Aerith, from the restoration committee.”

“Ah, yes. That makes sense. They’re a good group of people. I’ve been keeping in touch with them about Sora.” He reached over and touched one of the browning petals. “You needn’t leave this in direct sunlight, you know. They grow at night.”

“Did you study botany, too?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo suddenly looked a bit pained, but in just a second he had masked the emotion with a neutral face. “Not quite. A specialty of my parents’.” He took the plant off the windowsill and placed it on top of the dresser, out of view of the window. “Can I see your stitches? I want to make sure you’re healing properly.”

Demyx offered his hand. Ienzo unwrapped the bandages and studied the wound.

“That looks much better. I should be able to remove them in a week or so. You just need to keep it covered and clean.” He began rewrapping. Demyx had never really noticed his hands before, especially since they weren’t in gloves; the fingers were long and graceful and cool against his overheated skin. When he let go, Demyx found himself again feeling the imprint of the touch like it was still there.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Ienzo shook his head. “That’s quite alright. I forget that you’re still adjusting. You should use the rest of the day to get some rest.” Not that there was much left; the sky was turning pink. “I’m going to go and see what translation work I can get done while there’s still good light. Aeleus is making stew. I’m sure he’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Demyx watched him leave, his eyes lingering on the doorframe perhaps a moment longer than was necessary. Ienzo was completely different than Zexion. If he had passed out while helping Zexion, no doubt he would have just scowled and walked away. He surely wouldn’t have checked on him, or tried to save his houseplant, or touched him at all.

Demyx couldn’t help but wonder if he were changing too; but he knew less about himself than Ienzo ever had. Was Even right? Were his lack of memories just due to an incomplete heart? More importantly, did he want to remember?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who have read and commented! I love every single one of you.
> 
> I had asked in the last chapter if anyone would want to read a companion piece to this story from Ienzo's point of view, and the response was relatively unanimous that people are interested in it. I'll be launching that tomorrow with the title "Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint", so if you want to read it look out for it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares plague Demyx, but he soon discovers this is something he and Ienzo have in common.

V.

A few days passed. The illumina plant, away from the sun and in the darkness at night, shed its browning petals and new buds replaced them. Demyx checked it meticulously, made sure it was received neither too much water or too little. He even looked it up in the library, and found that fish worked as a good fertilizer. The next time they had some for dinner, he snuck a few bites into his napkin and buried them deep into the dark soil. 

The pain and stiffness in his hand lessened day by day until finally it was almost back to normal. Ienzo was preoccupied with Ansem, so Even offered to remove the stitches. Thankfully, the removal wasn’t nearly as painful.

“The body’s ability to heal is remarkable, but tedious,” Even remarked. “Try not to get into any more accidents.”

The scar left behind was thin but still an angry red, and the skin was weirdly sensitive from being under a bandage for so long. Demyx noticed that Even’s touch was rougher than Ienzo’s, his treatments less gentle. And for whatever reason, the contact left no impression on him at all. He wasn’t sure what this meant, or if he really wanted to know. 

“I’ve come to no conclusions with your samples,” Even said. “So far… everything seems utterly ordinary. Disappointing. I’m running a few tests which will take longer. I’m not sure these memories of yours are as displaced as you think.”

A thin finger of relief brushed down his spine. “That makes more sense,” he said slowly. 

“I’m sure with time your memory will return. It just takes some patience. I know that’s not your strong suit.”

Demyx shook his head. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “See you at dinner.”

He headed back downstairs, towards town. He was hoping that the instrument seller was at the marketplace this week. He still had little money, but maybe they could work out some sort of deal. Demyx would gladly do almost anything for a sitar; he could watch the booth, or do odd jobs, or really almost anything. It would be worth it to shake this emptiness he was feeling. 

He passed the study room on his way down, and to his surprise, he heard the piano. The notes were weak, and hesitant, and slow; exactly what a new player would sound like if they were out of their depth. He opened the door. “You going ahead without me?” he asked.

Ienzo looked up, startled. There were deep, bruiselike bags under his eyes. “Oh, Demyx,” he said. “No. Not quite. I just… I was trying to figure out the rhythm of a phrase. It changes the meaning of the characters in my translation, which changes the meaning of… just about everything.” He set his head in his palms. “I’d basically have to start over.”

“How long have you been at this?” Demyx asked. “It… seems like you’re pretty tired.”

Ienzo blinked, then looked out the window. “...Quite some time,” he admitted. “I… tend to lose track.” 

Demyx sat next to him on the bench. “Which section do you mean?”

“This little bit here. See?” He touched the measure in question. Ienzo played the phrase, bungling the triplet. “I can’t for the life of me count it out correctly. I… should have waited for you.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” He held out his left hand. “I’m all healed up. Even took out the stitches. Let me see. Oh, right. I remember this.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s the meter. 29/16ths.”

“Beg pardon?” Ienzo raised an eyebrow. 

“I know, right? God, at least make it an even number. 30/16ths would be so much easier to count. And they’re short measures, too, that all bleed into each other. It’s so…”

“Chaotic,” they said at the same time. Demyx felt the blood rush to his face.

“Well, it sounds… kind of more like this.” He played through the bridge again. “I’m sure on the actual sectioned instrument it would be completely different. And that would be…” He thumbed through the pages, seeking the same phrase. “...This one. And it’s got a treble clef, which means your options are really, really open. ...What’s this?” Next to the clef was a small character.

“They’re letters. Let me see.” He stood and hefted a large runic dictionary into his arms. He flicked through the pages. “My guess would be either an F or an S. Runes are, for whatever reason, pretty phonetically similar to our language now. If I had to start my studies all over again I think I would focus on linguistics. It’s just so delightfully complicated, and it really reveals a lot about human psychology how words and roots form--” He was speaking quickly now, a glint in his teal eyes. 

“...An F?” Demyx mumbled. “But it could mean flute, but that would mean it transposes higher, and that… feels off.” He played the notes in octave. “But if it’s an S… what could it be?” 

Ienzo went back to another heavy book of rooms. He snapped his fingers. “Dawn. That’s the character. So, if I’m correct at all, the first phrase is “Dawn town.” Maybe it's more like “Dawn, Town,” with a comma. Maybe it’s more of an action line. But that’s not the correct participle.”

“Daybreak Town.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not dawn. Daybreak. The rhythm wouldn’t fit.” He played it again. “It fits with “Daybreak”.”

Ienzo’s eyes were wide. “You’re right. That’s so apt. Daybreak Town. I wonder what that is. Is it poetic license? A place? I’ve no clue.” He stood up and started poring through his books. “Perhaps there’s a reference to it in some sort of history…”

He felt weak, as though someone were jangling his brainstem. Instead of thinking about it, he watched Ienzo as he shifted from book to book, mumbling to himself. His silver hair nearly seemed to glow in the rosy fall light, and there was that unfamiliar feeling, the whisper of it, as though Demyx were being touched. His skin was just a little too warm.

“...You’ve an odd expression on your face,” Ienzo said, startling him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, uh, fine.” He cleared his throat. “You seem pretty passionate about this kind of stuff.”

“...Passionate?” This seemed to catch him off guard. Then he nodded. “Yes. I suppose. I’ve never defined it at such, but I… I always feel most myself when I’m in my research. Making connections.”

“I know what you mean. That’s how I feel when I make my music. Like… I’m part of something worth something. Like I have…”

“Purpose,” Ienzo finished slowly. “I refuse to believe things are meaningless.”

“I find you easier to talk to than Zexion,” Demyx said. “Why is that?”

Ienzo sat down as though his body suddenly weighed twice as much. “He and I are… not the same,” he said. “Every day I’m working harder to be a better person, to make up for all of the terrible choices I’ve made. It is… exhausting.” He seemed to stare past Demyx for a moment before he seemed to come to attention. “You are different as well. I know it’s still hard to realize this.”

“The others don’t either,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just wonder how much of our Nobody selves were made of bad memories. I mean… I was a complete asshole. The way I treated Roxas--”

“It’s unfortunate there’s no way to quantify what you mean,” Ienzo said. “There must be purchase in it. If you’ve no conscience, no empathy, it’s easy to make bad decisions. Because none of it matters. I don’t want to live like that any more. Now that I’ve a choice.”

“Me either,” Demyx said lamely.

“Hopefully this research will shed some light on the past,” Ienzo said. “Shall we get back  to work?”

* * *

 

Demyx kept dreaming. 

The colors and shapes were sharpening in his mind, and they were becoming more memorable.The dreams shifted from the bright, soft, welcoming colors to orange and red dust, to monsters and swarms of Keyblades and bodies in armor, so many bodies, dead and bloodied and fading, some destroyed to the point of barely being human.

He woke up gasping, sweaty, and running for the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he was sick. Weird chills made him tremble all over, and he sat for a long time rocking back and forth.

“It was just a dream,” he kept whispering. It had all felt too vivid, too detailed, to be a dream. Even if it were, what did it say about his mental state that this is what he dreamt?

Demyx found it hard to focus the rest of his day. He felt tense, unsettled; he wasn't able to eat. He kept seeing the bodies. His piano playing was listless, incorrect. He could barely see the notes. He watched Ienzo at the small work desk, his face so close to the dictionary that his hair was caught in the pages.

“...Do you ever have nightmares?” Demyx asked slowly.

Ienzo jumped. “Well… I suppose to a degree. Everyone does at some point or another. Why is it you ask?”

“I had a really bad one last night and I can’t get it out of my mind. It just… it felt so real,” he said. 

Ienzo turned away from the book and leaned on one elbow. “What was it about?”

“I was in the Keyblade Graveyard.” As he said it, he realized it was true. “There were… so many bodies in armor… cut up… bleeding… completely dismembered… The Keyblades were everywhere. There was so much blood in the dirt that it was muddy, and red.” He shuddered.

Ienzo thought a long moment. “Perhaps this is a manifestation of survivor’s guilt, because you weren’t one of the true vessels, and thus, didn’t perish in battle. It’s a natural psychological response,” Ienzo said. “We internalize trauma differently as humans.”

“Trauma?” He hugged himself. “Do you think I’m traumatized?” He was probably right, but still the nightmare nagged.

Ienzo clucked his tongue. “In all likelihood, yes. I’m not qualified by any means to make that diagnosis, but considering what you’ve been through--and by extension, the rest of us--some sort of post-traumatic stress is not uncalled for.”

“I just want it to not bother me.” He felt cold and a little dizzy.

“I’m sure. If there was something I could do to help you, I would. Unfortunately, there’s no easy cure. You just must remind yourself that the pain you feel is illogical, and it will pass. The best key to these things is usually reason.”

“Always one of my strong suits,” he muttered. He looked down at the piano keys. Despite how hard he’d tried to clean it, some of the keys were still stained a pale pink with his blood. 

“You just need something to center yourself,” Ienzo said. “Something you can hang onto when these moments come.”

“Do you experience the same thing?”

He smiled sadly. “For many years. Even before the Organization.”

“What happened to you?”

The conversation seemed to stop in its tracks. Ienzo tensed. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “You know I was very young when Ansem the Wise took me in.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“I just figured you were that smart.”

“You flatter me.” He knotted his hands. “...My parents passed away when I was a child. It was… not natural.”

Demyx turned towards him. Ienzo’s desk was about an arm’s length away from the piano, which felt simultaneously too close and too far away. “Heartless?” he asked.

“No. Heartless were not as common then. There was another type of monster, one created from negative emotions. We know now that they come from Ventus’s counterpart, Vanitas. But then… they were everywhere. I was actually coming from here… this very castle… with both of my parents. It was open to the public then. And… well. There was a swarm.”

Demyx exhaled; he’d been holding his breath. 

“Both of my parents passed. I only survived because Aeleus was on duty and stepped in. I’ve still got the scars.” He loosened the cravat and pulled aside his shirt. At the top of his shoulder were three slash marks the pale white color of old scars.

Without thinking, Demyx brushed his fingers across them. The scars stretched up under the nape of his neck before disappearing beneath his clothing. Ienzo flinched. “I’m sorry,” Demyx said. “I wasn’t thinking. And, um. I’m sorry about your parents, too.”

Ienzo covered up the old scars. “I don’t remember much of them, even now. But you see. When you insist I cannot understand… I understand better than you know.”

“Yes,” he said. They held eye contact for a moment too long. Demyx knotted his hands, feeling the imprint of the scars still. He felt lousy for even having thought than Ienzo wouldn’t get it. They both had experience with the darkness and everything that came with it--it was the only thing they had in common. Demyx’s face flushed. He looked away from his own hands, trying to bury the weird feeling beneath layers of score.

Ienzo glanced over at the small alarm clock. “It’s about time for me to start making dinner. You’ll join us, right?”

“Right,” he said shakily. For a long while after Ienzo left, he didn’t move.

* * *

 

He dreamt again that night, this time less dramatically, and more opaquely. He dreamt about hands and scars and vague feelings of longing, and kissing a nameless, faceless stranger. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, the stranger gained a face. 

Ienzo.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx's growing attraction to Ienzo makes him question his own morality.

VI.

Thick, panicked breaths jolted Demyx awake. Anxiety rolled over him in little waves and he buried his head in his knees, trying desperately to get himself under control. Before he could even make himself think  _ dreams are meaningless _ he knew he was lying to himself. It seemed like every time they worked together he noticed something about Ienzo, about the way he moved or spoke, the way he let himself become so absorbed and lost in his studies. Why was he feeling this way, especially for him? It didn’t make any sense. Was he really so desperate that he’d cling onto the first person who was kind to him and spoke to him semi-normally? Why was it that every time they touched, no matter how platonically or innocently, he could feel it long afterwards, and wanted it again?

_ Damn it, _ he thought. He needed to make this stop, somehow. They weren’t even friends! They were barely coworkers!

Demyx could not get over his own stupidity.

He had to get out of here. Clear his head. Maybe he was wrong. He  _ had _ to be wrong.

He skipped breakfast to avoid getting caught in the kitchen and escaped into town. The day was cold, and he found himself wishing he’d actually put on his one sweater. Town was quiet; the day was just getting started. Merchants in the marketplace were fixing up their booths and paid him little attention. He wasn’t sure where he needed to go, just that he needed to go  _ away _ . This would be a perfect time to speak with friends as a distraction. Too bad he had none of those.

Aerith was again sitting at her stall, unwrapping burlap sacks from the blooms of new summer plants. She saw him and waved him over. “It’s you!” she said. “How are you finding town so far?”

“It’s… fine,” he said. “Still getting used to things. You know?”

“Especially if you’re not used to staying in one place,” she said pleasantly. “You need people to ground you. Radiant Garden is very accommodating, and this is a good place to socialize.”

“...Yeah, I guess. I just wouldn’t know where to start,” he said, with a laugh.

“Ask people about themselves,” she said. “Always seems to work for me. How’s the plant?”

“It’s fine. Still alive. I didn’t realize it was a moonlight plant.”

She touched her forehead, leaving a smear of dirt.  “I knew I was forgetting to tell you something. To me, it all seems natural. At least you figured it out. I’m sorry, Demyx.”

His chest constricted. “What?”

She looked confused. “That is your name, right?”

“How did you know?”

“Ienzo mentioned you,” she said, with a shrug. That name. He was trying to get away from him, and yet here it was. “I wondered why you hesitated to give your name, the first time we met.”

“I feel terrible,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because of the Organization! We… we did bad stuff to you guys!”

She smiled and shook her head. “You helped bring back Roxas.”

“That doesn’t cancel everything else out.” The revelations of it were shaking him more than anything. 

“What matters is that you’re trying to be a better person,” Aerith said gently. “It takes time, and conscious effort. But if you ever need something to salve your conscience, the committee is always looking for people to help.”

“With what?”

“Anything. It’s hard to run a town.”

Demyx didn’t even know what he could possibly offer. “Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Any time. You take care now, Demyx.”

“...You too.”

He headed off towards the Bailey, turning her words over and over again in his mind. She was right; being human was work, and being a good one was even harder. If he wanted to change, he’d have to do a whole lot more, overcome a whole lot more, and he had no idea where to begin. 

Did he want to change?

The first feeling was revulsion. It would take so much work and introspection that he just didn’t have the energy for. But on the other hand, how was he supposed to move on if he didn’t change? Or make connections? This loneliness and boredom was almost more than he could take.

He found himself wanting to talk to Ienzo. He’d have something insightful to say all this. But that just made things still more complicated. Demyx didn’t know how to stop this growing attraction, even though it was probably the right thing to do. There was no way he’d ever be good enough or composed enough for someone else.

He turned around and went home.

* * *

 

“How do I be a better person?”

He’d startled Ienzo; he nearly fell out of his chair. “I was not expecting you today,” Ienzo said.

“I… I thought I needed a break. But I…” There he was again, watching Demyx so intently. The warm feeling crept down his spine.  _ You stop that. _ “I wanted to talk to you.”

Ienzo smiled. “Well, do you need my permission?”

“It’s just that you seem to know so much more about being better. And I… want to.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but it’s not so simple. I’m still trying to come to terms with it myself.”

He sat down on the piano bench. 

Ienzo pulled his hands through his hair, an anxious gesture. Demyx caught sight of his right eye for just a moment. “It’s about… knowing your own wrongdoings, your insecurities, your flaws, it’s about understanding where they came from and why, it’s about all the choices you make, broad and narrow, every single day. Morality is  _ not _ simple, it’s not just darkness and light.” As he spoke, his voice gradually increased in volume and tempo. Ienzo turned pink. 

“I know that. I’m not as dumb as I seem.”

“Have I ever said you were?”

Demyx was stunned into silence.

“You’re not dumb. You are sharp, you think clearly, you see things I cannot see. I think you have a problem with your self worth, and I think more than anything that’s what’s been holding you back. This existence has given you ambition like I’ve never seen before from you. Don’t squander it. Please.” In the depths of his speech he had taken Demyx’s hand and squeezed it hard; but it didn’t hurt. After a moment he realized this and let it go ( _ no, please don’t _ \--).

He nodded. Nodded a lot. His head was starting to ache. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He smiled. “I will help you how I can.”

Demyx couldn’t help but grin back. The warm feeling was back again, almost completely overpowering. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to fight it. He wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to fight it. Was there any way he could ever make himself good enough?

He wasn’t so sure.

A finger of pain reached under his breastbone, breaking through the warmth and making him gasp.

“Demyx?” Ienzo asked. “Are you alright?”

Hot, sickly agony spread through his body. His consciousness cleaved suddenly, like a light being snuffed out; and the next thing he was aware of was the afternoon light playing on the ceiling. His heart was racing still, and it was hard to breathe. As Demyx came to, bit by bit, he realized Ienzo was holding his hand. Something smelled like bleach and detergent; Ienzo’s jacket was under his head.

“...pulse still pretty erratic,” Ienzo mumbled.

Demyx squeezed his hand, unable to speak.

“Oh, good, you’ve come to. Can you speak?”

“I feel sick.”

“You’ve fainted.”

He tried to sit up and found the world had gone dizzy. Ienzo eased him back down onto the makeshift pillow.

“Rest for a minute, okay?” A hand on his forehead. “You’ve a bit of a fever.”

“I felt cold this morning.”

“That might be it.”

Demyx felt odd, like he was being shaken from the inside out. It felt different than a fever. Fevers weren’t usually accompanied by chest pains. 

“Can you sit up?”

He slipped an arm under him and gently hefted him up. Demyx swayed a little.

“We’ve got to try to get you to bed, alright?”

Humiliated tears pricked his eyes. 

“Lean against me if you have to.”

Standing was treacherous, and nauseating. Ienzo slipped an arm around his waist. They set off, bit by bit. Why did this castle have to be so big?

“Do you think this is systemic?” Ienzo asked. “Or psychological? What were you thinking about immediately before you lost consciousness? Do you remember?”

How could Demyx tell him that he’d been thinking he’d never be good enough for him? It would open a can of worms he just wasn’t ready to deal with. Not to mention he was almost positive Ienzo didn’t reciprocate his feelings. Why should he? What about him was something he would find even remotely attractive? 

The pain surged again, and he almost fell. Ienzo struggled under his sudden weight. “I’m wondering if I should get Aeleus to come carry you. You’re very weak.”

“Please don’t.” To his horror, his voice wavered.

“Clearly something has upset you on a deep metaphysical level--”

“I can’t tell you.” He fought to regain his composure, to take some of his weight back. 

“Is it very personal?”

Demyx nodded. 

“Alright.”

They made it back to his room, bit by bit. Demyx was so dizzy that for a few moments laying down was worse than standing. Ienzo flinched and rolled his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Demyx said.

“I’m not as strong as I used to be,” Ienzo said. He sighed. “Get some rest. I’ll come check on you in a few hours.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you believe I’d just leave you lying there?” 

He shook his head, though he wasn’t sure.

Ienzo sighed again. Demyx couldn’t read the blank, melancholy look on his face. “Hopefully this pain you’re experiencing is temporary,” he said, and left. 

* * *

 

He slept for a long while and woke up to a cold hand touching his wrist. Even’s acidic green eyes met his, then flicked back to his wristwatch. “Your vitals have returned more or less to normal. Whatever this spell is, it’s passed.”

Demyx did feel better, though shaky. “Where’s Ienzo?”

Even scowled. “Called away by Ansem. You realize I am also capable of providing you with care, yes?”

“...Sorry.” He touched the spot over his heart. There was no more pain. 

“He did describe your symptoms to me. Quite perplexing on the surface, but no more than a trick of biology. Your heart is still growing. No doubt any strong surge of emotion or memory would be debilitating. I’ve yet to experience it myself, but I’m certain that’s the case.” He raised an eyebrow. “What is it you were feeling, exactly? Hatred for your work? I’m told that’s what you were doing.”

Demyx bared his teeth. “No. It was… something else. ...Guilt.” And a heady dose of self-loathing. “I want… I want to be a better person.”

“As much as that warms the cockles of my heart, you must tread carefully. Dive too deeply into the mistakes of your past, and you might not escape. Your new heart is too brittle for that strain. Break it, and you might not be lucky enough to get a new one.” Even cast an odd look over his shoulder. “Good day, Demyx. Rest well.”


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

Of course resting wasn’t easy.

He took a bath, and then sat washing his clothes, kneading the fabric again and again against the side of the old-fashioned tub. Usually he dreaded the castle’s lack of real modern conveniences (they didn’t even have a _microwave_ ), but for some reason the manual act of washing was comforting. With nothing else clean to wear, he had to put on the old black coat, and for the first time it felt uncomfortable against his skin.

Demyx didn’t want to risk going out in the black coat, so he sat in the kitchen, nursing the same cup of weak coffee, as he waited for everything to dry enough to wear. He _so_ had to do some shopping. This was tedious.

“Oh, Demyx. You’re alright. What--” Ienzo flinched at the sight of the cloak.

“I did laundry. I had nothing else to wear.”

“Yes, I see. That makes sense.”

“I made coffee. It should still be hot.”

Ienzo poured himself a cup and then sat across from him. Demyx noticed, again, just how tired he looked; his face was pale and he leaned against his palm as though he couldn’t support his own weight. Ienzo only ever looked this tired when he’d spent the day with Ansem; even when they worked together on the translation, he was able to at least sit up straight.

“...Are you okay?” Demyx asked. “You look terrible.”

“I should be asking you the same,” Ienzo said in a soft voice. “I’m very tired.”

“Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Haven’t the time lately.”

“I don’t get it. You keep saying yourself that we have so much time now, but you aren’t using any of it to take care of yourself.”

Ienzo took a drink. “I assure you I am in good health.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I’m surprised after your illness yesterday that you’re worried about me.”

Demyx blinked. “Of course I am. We’re… we’re friends.” His voice faltered on the last word and he looked down into his mug.

“I suppose we are, aren’t we,” Ienzo said. He smiled. “I find I rather enjoy your company. When you’re not collapsing, that is.”

Demyx felt a blush creep into his face and for several heartbeats couldn’t speak. “What is it you’re doing with Ansem?” Demyx asked.

“Like I said before, we’re trying to find a way to help Sora. But we’re working almost entirely in theory, in the metaphysical, with completely untested hypotheses. I’ve been programming simulations to try and come up with _any_ way to test them. It’s very complicated work, and… emotionally taxing to boot. There’s a lot at stake here. And while the ideas we’ve had are exciting, I feel as though I’m approaching something beyond understanding. And that frustrates me.” He looked up suddenly, and turned pink. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain to you.”

“No, I mean, you’ve dealt with all my stupid shit. This is big. No wonder you’re so stressed out.” He clapped his hands together. “I know. You need a break.”

“I haven’t the time--”

“You can’t help Sora if you’re burning out. Which, clearly you are. You’re important too, you know.”

He traced his finger over the rim of his mug. “...I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

“Course I am! Listen, if anyone’s an expert in slacking off, it’s me. Once my clothes are dry I’m taking you out of the castle to get some fresh air. In the meantime, you’re going to go to bed.”

“But I--”

Demyx shushed him. “You need sleep. When was the last time you had a full night’s, anyway?”

Ienzo looked down. “...I cannot recall,” he mumbled.

“Exactly. Go take a nap.”

“Yes, I… that sounds much needed.” Ienzo stood and he actually stumbled a little. Demyx caught him by the elbow.

“I’m going to keep an eye on your door,” Demyx said. “If I see you leave to go off do work I’m going to be super pissed. And I can be scary.”

Ienzo laughed a little. The sound made him feel tingly.

“No, really! I can be!”

“You’re sweet to care,” Ienzo said. “Thank you.”

“Go nap.”

He watched him walk down the hallway and go into his bedroom. His heart was beating fast again. This was the opposite of what pain felt like. He sighed, and then becoming aware of how he was feeling, he shook himself out. “...He’s my friend,” he whispered allowed. But he’d called him sweet...

“Ah, Demyx. Good morning.” Ansem’s deep voice startled him out of the reverie. “I’m surprised to see you dressed so.”

“It’s the only clean thing I have,” he said.

“Yes. That slipped my mind. Easily fixable. I should hate for you to be uncomfortable during your time here.” He lifted the coffee pot off the burner and, finding it empty, exhaled sharply. “Have you seen Ienzo? I was running some of his simulations and I had a question about the code.”

It occurred to Demyx at first that he should lie, because Ansem was kind of pissing him off. _Can’t you see how tired he is? Aren’t you supposed to know him better than me?_ “He looked exhausted, so I told him to get some rest.”

Ansem put a hand to his forehead. “Of course. He never complains, that boy. He’d work himself to death if you’d let him. Unfortunately, I was too distracted to notice. I’ll try to keep a better eye on him in the future. Thank you for that.”

“Least I can do.”

Demyx was starting to feel antsy. He knew Ienzo was only probably just falling asleep, but he wanted to check and see if his stuff was dry. “So I hear you’re interested in ancient Keyblade history,” Ansem said.

“Yeah. Um. After everything that’s happened, the X-blade and all that, I just. Wanted to know more.” His mouth was dry and he drank down more of his coffee.

“It is fascinating how we can inadvertently make myths into history. The power of the human will is not to be underestimated.”

Demyx frowned. “It’s not a myth, though. It actually happened. Hundreds of years ago.”

“Yes, but, before that, it was nothing more than a prophecy, a legend, part of perhaps some religion. It was the belief of strong-hearted individuals that made it come true. To the horrors of the rest of us.”

“So you do know about it,” Demyx said. “Ienzo said there weren’t many texts.”

“There are not. I only know what was passed onto me by my predecessor, the last sage queen of this world. This sort of storytelling gets diluted over time. I’m sure you know that. You’ve studied folk music, I presume. It’s similar in that regard, things getting passed down and changed over time.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’m gonna go. See if my clothes are dry.”

* * *

 

Several hours later, the Organization cloak once again in the empty drawers of his dresser, Demyx went to check on Ienzo. He brought him some water and braced himself to have to tell him off.

Ienzo’s bedroom was a bit bigger than his, and clearly had been lived in before. The deep cherry wood of the furniture matched and had been taken care of, unlike the random pieces in his own room. A roll-top desk was piled with books, a lamp nearby. A poster of local constellations was on one wall, old and very faded. And of course there was a bookshelf, piled high and bursting to the seams, but what Demyx really noticed was a threadbare purple stuffed cat, barely visible behind some candles.

Ienzo was fast asleep on the double bed. He hadn’t even taken off his coat, and his shoes were piled haphazardly by the side of the bed. He was curled in on himself, as though sleeping hurt. Demyx set down the glass of water, took the edges of the quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and pulled it over him.

Ienzo stirred. Demyx couldn’t see his face under the layer of hair. “...Master?”

“No, it’s me, Demyx. I was just bringing you some water. Go back to sleep.”

“...Why is this happening?” He curled even tighter on himself, the blanket rumpling. “It hurts, why does it--”

Demyx shook him, trying to free him from the nightmare. After a long moment, his bloodshot eyes opened. “Hey. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.”

Ienzo stared at him as though he couldn’t quite see him. His face was flushed and he sat up slowly. Demyx could hear that he was trying to get his breathing under control but failing, starting an agonizing descent into a panic attack.

“Try and breathe, okay? It’s over now. You’re safe.”

He put his hands to his head, his panicked breath dissolving into sobs. Demyx was utterly at a loss for what to do--he was afraid to touch him, lest he somehow made it worse, but he didn’t know how else to provide any comfort. He rested a tentative hand on Ienzo’s back and rubbed gently. To his surprise, Ienzo leaned into his touch. Demyx hugged him lightly. Ienzo was shaking all over. “It’s okay,” Demyx said over and over again. “You’re alright now.”

After what seemed like a long time, the sobs subsided, though he was still trembling. Ienzo pulled away and Demyx let go at the first sign of resistance. He mopped at his eyes.

“Better?” Demyx asked. He handed him the water. “Here. Drink this.”

He obeyed. He loosened the cravat and buttons around his throat.

“That was a memory, wasn’t it?” he asked.

Ienzo nodded. “...You’re here,” he stuttered.

“Oh. I mean, I was just checking on you. But then I saw you were dreaming, and I couldn’t leave you in the nightmare.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he said. “Sometimes the memories are stronger than others.”

“Come on. You’ve seen me worse off.”

He hugged himself tightly.

“...Do you want to talk about it?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo shook his head. “No. Let’s… let’s go to town.”

“Are you sure? You just had one of the biggest panic attacks I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should just chill. Catch your breath.”

“I need to get out of here,” he insisted. There was a raw wildness in Ienzo's eyes that he had never seen before. He'd always been so put-together, but for the first time Demyx realized it was all an act. This was likely the tip of the suffering iceberg. 

Demyx understood. As much as this castle had to be Ienzo’s home, there were a lot of dark memories wrapped up in it. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Outside, the sun was starting to set. The air was cooling rapidly. Demyx was glad he’d thought to grab his sweater this time.

“It’s getting dark,” Demyx said. “You sure it’s safe? Neither of us have weapons.”

Ienzo nodded. “The Heartless haven’t been as plentiful as of late. There’s also the town’s defense system.” His voice was flat, dull. Demyx could tell he’d been shaken to his core.

“...Right, but we see something, we’re heading back. ‘Cause I am _so_ not in the mood.”

Town was brightly lit; string lights were stretched across the buildings, making things glow and providing an extra level of protection against Heartless. The marketplace was still busy, the smells and sounds catching up to them. Demyx noticed a flyer pasted onto one of the buildings.

“There’s a concert in the square,” he said. His heart catching in his throat. “We _have_ to go.”

“That must be new,” Ienzo said. “I haven’t seen anything like that here in a very long time. I should like to see it myself.”

They waded through the crowd in the marketplace, taking a circuitous route that actually spit them out near the foot of the castle. A small stage had been set up, and people were sitting out on lawn chairs and blankets. A warm, fizzy excitement gathered inside of him; it had been so _long_ since he’d heard any music, especially music that hadn’t been produced by himself.

“There’s a bench over there,” Ienzo said. “I’d rather not sit on the cold ground.”

“No problem.” He spotted a concession stand. “Are you hungry? Let’s get snacks.” The main product was popcorn, so he got enough for two of them. There was also hard apple cider, which sounded interesting. “Do you want one?”

“I’m not a big drinker, but… admittedly it sounds nice.”

After only barely having claimed their bench from other people, they settled back down. Demyx was glad to see that the tension in Ienzo’s shoulders had lessened slightly. “I take it you don’t get out much,” Demyx said.

“Not at all,” Ienzo said. “It’s very easy for me to forget about the mundane. I feel like all I do is look at the bigger picture. Especially lately.”

“It’s helpful sometimes. Otherwise it’s so easy to lose perspective. When I would do recon missions, I spent so much time picking apart everything about a world--its culture, its people, the power dynamics at play--that I would forget that everyone there is living. Sometimes I had to join them, to talk to someone, to just… remember I’m real. It’s the only way you can hang onto yourself.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ienzo said. “But how can I afford to put myself above everything when there’s so much at stake?”

“You’re not putting yourself above it. You’re treating yourself as having worth. Which is something you keep lecturing me about.”

In the faint light, Demyx could swear he saw Ienzo turn pink. “I think it’s starting,” Ienzo said quietly, which was the perfect thing to distract him.

For the first set, his attention was rapt. The musicians were just a random group of people from the town who clearly hadn’t spent much rehearsal time together, and the songs they played were old Radiant Garden folk songs, well-worn and remembered. Technically, the musicians weren’t even very good, but it was the love with which they played the songs that compelled him.

The second set was more uptempo, and clearly meant to get people on their feet, which it did. Demyx exhaled; it felt like he’d been holding his breath forever. Hearing the music had grounded him, gave him some clarity. He realized Ienzo was staring at him and jumped.

He smiled. “I’m sorry. It was just so interesting to watch you watch them, so to speak. It was like you were in your own little world.”

“No,” Demyx said. “No, it made me feel a part of this one.” The silence and eye contact made him bristle. He stood. The pint of cider he’d had must have been a bit stronger than he’d thought. He was woozy in a good way. “Do you want to join them?”

“Me? Don’t be absurd.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. Give me _one_ good reason why not.”

“We’ll look foolish.”

“More like _you’ll_ look dumb for being the only one still sitting. And besides. I bet half of these people are too drunk to care.”

“...I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science.” Demyx offered his hand.

Ienzo sighed and drummed his fingers against the seat of the bench. “ _Fine._ But do _not_ tell anyone about this.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He took Demyx’s hand, then froze. “I changed my mind.”

He blinked. “...Are you embarrassed? Hey, it’s okay. I’m just trying to help you relax a little. Do you want to go back?”

“Yes… perhaps.”

They left the noise and light of the town. The cool, dry air shook some of the tipsiness he was feeling. Demyx realized Ienzo was still holding his hand. His breath caught. He didn’t understand what this meant--was he also a little drunk?

“Just another moment,” Ienzo said when they reached the postern. “Look at the sky.”

The night sky seemed impossibly bright, brighter than he’d ever seen in years. The worlds that had fallen to darkness were healing, one by one.

“I haven’t seen… I can’t believe…” He reached up, as if to touch the stars. He squeezed Demyx’s hand with his other. “Why is it that I’ve never looked up? Look, Cassiopeia is there in almost its entirety. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen it in full. And Calliope.”

“It’s over,” Demyx said softly. “Finally.”

“No, there’s still so much work to do. And yet…” His voice hitched. In the semidarkness, it was hard to tell exactly, but Demyx could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes. “I thought this would all be over… because of me. Because of my mistakes, my insistence we did those experiments, almost everything was destroyed…”

“But the darkness was always there. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Anyway, you were a kid. Someone else should have known better and helped you.”

“You’re too kind to me, Demyx.” He shook his head and took his hand back. “Part of me will probably always feel guilty.”

“Then… let me help you with that. And I’ll be there to remind you of all the good you’ve done.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my pill to swallow.”

They lapsed into a silence. Ienzo kept watching the stars. Demyx couldn’t see his eyes through the hair.

“I… have enjoyed your company,” Ienzo said after what felt like an eternity. “You’ve shown me there is more to life than… well, guilt and research. It reminds me that I am human, and… real.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. His heartbeat was making him jittery. “I always thought I would be alone somehow. And now I’m not.”

Ienzo turned to face him. “Rather succinct.”

Demyx was close enough to feel his body heat. He reached up with a trembling hand to touch Ienzo’s cheek. He seemed unsure of how to react to the touch, though he didn’t pull away. He put his hand on top of Demyx’s.

_Do it, you coward._

He leaned in and kissed him. It was a light kiss, borderline chaste; it was over as soon as it had begun. Ienzo was gripping his hand painfully tight. Demyx couldn’t see his expression. Had he been reading the signs all wrong? Was this a terrible idea? Had he just fucked it all up?

“I’m sorry,” he said. Anxiety burrowed under his skin. “I thought-- Look, I--” He had no way of defending himself without outright lying. You could explain away most other gestures as friendly, but not this.

Ienzo shook his head. He let go of Demyx’s hand.

“Will you say something? Please?”

He kept shaking his head. He put his hand to his throat.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

Ienzo knotted his hands.

Panic hitched in his chest. “I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m going to leave you alone. I’m so sorry.” He turned away and ran.

In a panicked daze he got back to his room, and collapsed onto his bed. He thought his heart might explode. How had he been so stupid? He hoped the damage wasn’t too extensive, but how could he be sure? He’d rendered Ienzo speechless. Why had he thought it was even possible--

The night was long. His heart was racing too fast to let him get any sleep. He played the moment over and over again, feeling a bit sicker each time. There was no way to take it back.

Around dawn, as he sat tangled in sheets, shaking all over, there was a faint knock at the door. He sat up.

Ienzo poked his head in. He looked terrible, pale and exhausted again. No doubt he hadn’t had any sleep either.

“I’m so--” Demyx began, but Ienzo held up a finger.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Ienzo said in a tired, low voice.

“Of course I did. I forced myself on you--”

“You did no such thing.” He leaned against the dresser. “I’ve thought… and I’ve thought… I’ve felt… something physical between us. The hints have been piling up, and this… longing I feel… I can’t categorize. I have to explain myself.”

His heart was pounding again, but in a different way.

Ienzo kept his eyes on the floor. “When I was a child there were times I would go mute,” he said. “Whenever I felt something strong, or experienced something traumatic, I would shut down. These spells have gotten less common as I’ve gotten older, but when I experience them, it’s impossible to communicate. It still happens now when I’m under exceptional stress, or surprised. And you surprised me. I’m sure it was an odd thing to witness.” He was wringing his hands together. “I thought about it all night. Part of me wonders if this is displaced desire, and hormonal impulses on both of our parts. I don’t pretend to understand these things. I never had reason to in the past. Maybe some would consider this a poor match. But I am tired of denying myself good things.”

The muscles in his chest were so taught with tension that his next breath hurt. "You mean--"

Ienzo crossed the remaining few feet between them and kissed him.

He tensed. It was more of a collision than a kiss, awkward and messy. Ienzo's anxious reaction suddenly made a whole lot more sense; he was completely inexperienced. “I know what you mean,” Demyx stuttered. “About this being confusing, and weird, and probably a bad idea, but I… I’m all in, Ienzo.” 

Ienzo sat down next to him delicately, like he would fly apart if he moved too quickly. In the early morning light, Demyx could clearly see the flush in his face. He took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't know what to expect," Ienzo said. His other hand lingered near his lips. 

“When I kissed you? That was your first?” 

“I never had the desire before. Or really, the time. I presume the same isn’t the case for you.” 

“...Well. That’s true.”

A few beats of tense silence. Demyx put an arm around him, lightly. He remained tense, but did not flinch away. “Did you want me to do it again?”

“...I should… I should like that.”

He ran a hand through Ienzo's hair. It was deceptively soft, almost like down. Demyx kissed him. It took him a moment or two to begin to figure it out. He moved slowly and almost tentatively. Ienzo's hands dropped to his waist. He was learning, and quickly, and soon he began to kiss back with a little more fervor. This was more what Demyx thought it would be like. Warmer. More natural. He could hear him breathing rapidly. Ienzo reached up to touch his hair, his face. Demyx wanted nothing more than to pull him close and not let go, but he had to be careful. Still. It had been so long since he'd been touched in any capacity, romantically or otherwise, and he felt something like shock. 

Ienzo pulled away. He was, if possible, even redder, and he didn't make eye contact when he said, "I didn’t think it would feel this way.”

“Disappointed?”

“No. The opposite.” He withdrew his hands. Demyx ached when the touch disappeared, but it was crucial that they take their time. “But I’m starting to feel ov-oversti--” He touched his throat.

“Overstimulated?” Demyx finished for him. “It’s okay if you need space. This is all new to you. We can take it really slow.”

Ienzo moved away a few feet and pulled his knees to his chest.

After a few minutes of breathing, Demyx broke the silence again. “You go quiet?” Ienzo nodded. “That’s okay. We can just chill here.” He swung his feet a little. Somehow, now that they kissed the longing was stronger than before. Demyx wondered why the body had to be so greedy. He should’ve been happy with this much; he _was_ happy with it, and eager to see what this meant for them. “Is it okay if I talk?”

He nodded.

“It was really unexpected for me too,” Demyx said. “It just felt so much more real than anything I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s because I have a heart… or part of one, or whatever. I’m just… glad. I’m still barely catching my breath.”

They sat there for a while longer. Demyx thought he would get bored, but he found he didn’t mind this neutral sort of space they’d made. Sitting with Ienzo in silence was far better than sitting alone. He couldn’t stop smiling. After what could’ve been an hour or more, Ienzo cleared his throat.

“Better?” Demyx asked.

“Quite. I’m very… I’m very tired.”

“Go try to sleep. It seems like you’ve just gone through a lot. If it makes you feel better, I’m probably going to turn in too. Hard to sleep last night.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Demyx kissed him once more. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched him leave. Once the door was closed Demyx curled up tightly, feeling a reckless giddiness. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but the shock was pleasant for a change. Surprising. For once, being human wasn't so terrible after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ienzo reveals his plans to try and save Sora. Some of the guardians of light come to visit to find answers, but their reappearance causes Demyx to realize the gaps in his memories.

VIII.

For the first few weeks little about their relationship seemed to change. The acknowledgment sat between them. Perhaps Ienzo grew a little more casual, shedding his coat and loosening whatever cravat or tie he wore; when they worked together, he would let Demyx hold his hand, or kiss his cheek. The air still felt charged, but there was a certain innocence to it, an ease. Demyx wasn’t sure what would push him into another shutdown. He also wasn’t sure what  _ he  _ could take either. He felt simultaneously more brittle and stronger than ever before. Being open, vulnerable, and patient was difficult. Sometimes the moments felt like a test.

“Are you still having nightmares?” Demyx asked him.

“Not as frequently. And yourself?”

“No. Not really. I’ve been kind of distracted lately.”

“By what?” 

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

Ienzo nodded. “Right. Forgive me.”

He smiled. “Sometimes you’re immune to flirting, you know that?”

“Perhaps my way of expressing interest is far different than yours.” He smiled. 

“You make me read too much into it.”

“Isn’t that the point, as it were?”

“No!” They were spending less and less time working, more and more time talking. 

Ienzo laughed in that quiet, stifled way of his. “It is… strange, being known this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel as if I’m to let you see a part of me that is guarded,” Ienzo said. 

“You feel vulnerable.”

“Yes. It’s frightening.”

“Very,” Demyx agreed. 

“I had thought for so long that being open was a bad thing. Maybe it’s… necessary. Maybe in a way this is what I need.”

“...And now you’re flirting with me.”

“Very astute of you. You’re catching on.” He kissed him, all softness and light, and Demyx kissed him back as long and as deeply as Ienzo would let him. His skin seemed to burn where it was touched. When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard. “When you first kissed me,” he admitted, “I could not get it out of my head. I thought there might be something wrong with me.”

“What, that you’re a person that has hormones? Congratulations, Ienzo. You’re like most of the human race.”

He didn’t make eye contact when he said, “I’m not used to feeling want.”

Demyx kissed him on the forehead. For a long time they remained there, half touching. He wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly and not let go. Ienzo’s hand was trembling where it rested on his arm. Demyx felt sure this was already pushing his boundaries. Instead, he said, “And you decided you wanted  _ me. _ There was a lot of thought behind your decision. That’s pretty gay of you.” He realized he didn’t even know Ienzo’s orientation, not that it mattered at this stage in the game.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

* * *

 

A few more weeks passed. As soon as he thought his connection to Ienzo could not get deeper, it seemed to grow, to become more intense, until it was so deep that he felt the same fear Ienzo did. Maybe Demyx had kissed a few more people, but he sure as hell had never felt anything resembling intimacy.

The bright, sparkling longing seemed to take over the time they spent together. He had no idea what to do with it. He felt giddy and reckless, but he had to tread carefully, and doing so left him feeling constantly stifled in an indeterminable way. 

Their work was suffering horribly.

“I’m going to be spending a few days with Master Ansem,” Ienzo said one of those afternoons. “You might not see much of me.”

“The simulations?”

He nodded. “The more time passes, the more everyone worries that Sora’s drifting farther away. He and I will be doing what we can, and a few of the others will be visiting too.”

“The others?”

“The guardians of light. I’m sure you know all of them.”

“We didn’t exactly… talk all that much.”

“Well, you can see this as an opportunity to get to know them, then. It would be good for you to make some connections.”

Demyx knew that on some level, Ienzo was right. He  _ did _ need friends. But as it was Demyx would rather spend time with him. “I’ll try. Just like you better take care of yourself.”

“Or what?”

He smirked. “For me to know and you to find out.”

“I see. Not much of an incentive, then.” Ienzo rested his hands on Demyx’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I like your hair soft like this. It suits you.”

He’d been rationing the last bit of the tiny tube of hair gel from his Organization coat for weeks. It was finally gone. Without the coat, and a different hairstyle, Demyx barely recognized himself. “You think so?”

“Yes. A tad more mature.” Ienzo smoothed down some of the strands. Demyx felt goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature break over his skin.

“Do you have to go?”

“I’ll be right here in the castle. We’ll see each other at dinner.” Ienzo hugged him from behind, a first; and rested his cheek against him for a moment. 

“Do they know?” Demyx asked weakly.

“Who knows what?”

“Ansem and the others. About us.”

“I… do not know how to bring it up.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad?”

“Master Ansem? No, I don’t think so. Surprised, no doubt. But he likes you. You did save him, after all. I know you two have not spoken much.”

Thinking about how the others would react sent a cold wave of anxiety through him. Even, Aeleus, Dilan; they hadn’t cared for him in the Organization days. He  _ was _ changing, but could he ever reach their standard of being good enough when they had the old Demyx in mind? 

“We will cross that bridge when we’re ready,” Ienzo said. “Maybe, for now, try and get to know them better. They haven’t seen you change the way I have.” He turned and kissed him again, slowly. It was clearly meant to be a short kiss, but somewhere in the interim Ienzo had changed his mind. Demyx brought him closer, trying to keep his grip loose and unconfining. He always smelled so comforting, like detergent and the sweetness of ink and something indefinable but purely his. 

Demyx felt a sliver of something against his lips. His tongue, he realized, and was momentarily startled.

“I’m sorry--I should have asked--” His face was flushed. “I have thought of this as an experiment. It… helps.”

“An experiment,” Demyx said slowly. “Yeah. I like that.” And kissed him again. This time he let his lips part. He let Ienzo  _ experiment. _ Admittedly it was clumsy and uncomfortable and it wasn’t exactly like he could explain how to do it the way they were tangled. But gradually the discomfort faded, and the kiss went from being awkwardly moist to sending a completely different kind of chill through him.

Ienzo pulled away abruptly. “I really must go. They’ll be waiting.”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes. As much as I’d be happier sitting here with you.”

“Making out.”

“Well. Yes.”

Demyx kissed him on the cheek. “I’m serious about you taking care of yourself.”

“I’m aware. I will try.” His hand slipped free from Demyx’s and he left him sitting there, dizzy and almost painfully turned on and trying to will his body to  _ please calm the fuck down _ at least long enough to get back to his room. He couldn’t see how Ienzo was going to do science after all this. He really must be wired differently. 

Everything just felt so goddamn  _ intense.  _

So Demyx went back to his room. He was even able to sanely and normally greet Dilan. But as soon as it went silent in the hallway he thought of the kiss and touched himself, feeling weirdly guilty all the while even though (and he repeated this) it was a perfectly normal, human thing to do, especially if that human had  _ very strong _ physical and emotional feelings for another human.

He felt momentarily better. And then he scrubbed his hands until they were raw.

* * *

 

Demyx tried to listen to Ienzo, and meet up with the guardians of light. As he went towards the infamous lab, a cold, anxious sweat started building under his arms. Meeting new people didn’t usually make him feel like this, but these were  _ not _ new people. He didn’t know how they would react to him. 

Demyx saw them before they saw him.

There was Lea, of course, calming a worried Roxas; Naminé, blonde and wraithlike; and a dark-haired girl Demyx could only half remember. His eyes passed over her and caught the last person in the room, the only one who had noticed him so far.

Isa.

Saïx’s somebody regarded him curiously. Demyx’s anxiety spiked with memories of being told off and he blanched. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

Isa approached him. “Peace,” was the first thing he said. “I know you must have bitter memories of me, and I you. But times are different. I think it’s best if we let that be water under the bridge.” He offered his hand. Demyx hesitated, but shook it. “You performed admirably in our little heist. I knew you would. Xehanort vastly underestimated the strength of boredom and spite.”

Demyx froze. “You mean  _ you’re _ the one who planned the whole thing?”

“Yeah, he did,” Lea said loudly. “Good to see you, man.”

To Demyx’s surprise, they were all looking at him warmly. His face burned. Lea came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you’re back in one piece. When nobody had heard from you we were worried that Xehanort had got you. Or a little bit of him was off somewhere. But that looks like it’s taken care of itself.”

“Yeah. I’m human now. Mostly. It’s a work in progress.” He felt a bit breathless. 

“We wanted to say thanks. Me and Naminé,” Roxas said. “While we’re here.”

“I really didn’t do much,” Demyx insisted. 

“But you did do something,” Naminé pointed out.

“And for you that used to be asking a lot,” Lea added, with a wink.

“I’m sorry,” Demyx said to Roxas. “For how I treated you in the Organization days--”

Roxas shook his head. “I think after this we can consider ourselves even.”

The dark-haired girl, who had so far been hanging back, joined the group. “I don’t know if you remember me,” she said. “I was… well, my body was one of the real vessels. But that was before I was me again.”

Demyx squinted. “I  _ sort of _ do,” he said.

“I’m Xion,” she said. “I was number XIV. We didn’t really have any missions together. That doesn’t help.”

A sudden wave of dizziness came over him. He could still only half-remember her, like dreams. “I think I owe you an apology too,” he said. 

Xion giggled. “It’s okay.”

“So,” Demyx drawled. “You guys are here to get Ansem’s help, right?”

The mood in the room, which had been light, darkened considerably. Almost everyone looked away from him.

“Something like that,” Lea said. 

“We’re exploring our options,” Naminé said. “Riku’s looking for Sora. But if Sora’s lost for good--”

“Do you think he is?” Demyx asked.

“That’s the thing. We don’t know,” Namine said. “Kairi’s gone too. I want to help get her back. Only we have no idea where to start.”

Demyx frowned. “Well, I hope you can get the answers you want,” he said, even though he knew from his conversations with Ienzo that it was unlikely. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I promise I’ll actually do it this time.”

Roxas smiled a little. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“I guess I’ll leave you to talk to them,” Demyx said. “You in town long?”

Lea shrugged. “Depends. Isa and I were probably going to bum around town though later. See what’s changed.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“If you want to join us,” Lea added. “That was an invitation, you know.”

“He’s still oblivious,” Isa said, with a slight shake of the head. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you later then?” 

Lea gave him a small salute.

* * *

 

He caught up with them later that afternoon. The sky was turning pink but the air was noticeably cooler. Soon it would be winter. He watched the parts of town he could see from up at the postern, tracing patterns in the cool metal. 

“You been waiting long?” Lea called. 

Demyx turned. “No, not really. Just getting some air. Where are the others?”

“They’re staying behind to answer some questions,” Isa said. “Ansem was intrigued about their connection to Sora. There wasn’t much else for both of us to do. Lea here was getting stir-crazy.”

“Hey, what can I say?” Lea said with a shrug. 

Demyx hoped Ienzo was okay. He hoped Roxas could be of some help. Anything to ease his stress. “What is it you wanted to see?”

“Anything,” Lea said. “I’ve barely been here since the town’s been repaired.”

For a few hours Demyx followed them as they wandered through town. They commented on changes, voices caught up in reminiscing, old teenage misadventures. (“There’s still a mark here where you set off fireworks,” Isa said. “I cannot believe you  _ only _ got a warning from patrol.” “And I’d do it again. The look on old man Miller’s face was absolutely priceless. I wonder what happened to him.”) Demyx tried hard not to feel left out, even though that was implicit. 

It grew dark. Lea lit a small fire in his hand. “Hey look. It’s still here.”

“What is it?” To Demyx, it just looked like a utility shed. 

“Our old hideout,” Isa said. 

Lea pulled a hairpin out of his pocket and jimmied the lock. The door took some forcing open, but then they were standing in dusty, dank darkness. “Hold on… let me…” Lea fumbled at the wall and tugged a barely visible chain. A light bulb popped on above their heads. 

It wasn’t a big space, barely big enough for the small card table and chairs in the center. Moreover, it was cluttered. Milk crates of comics and papers lined the walls. A hand-drawn diagram of the castle was pinned to the wall. Isa touched it. “Good intentions that were sadly misguided,” he said. “I wonder what it is that would’ve happened if we hadn’t gone to the castle that day.”

“What happened?” Demyx asked.

Isa and Lea looked at each other. Lea took one of the empty milk crates, flipped it over, and patted it. “Pop a squat,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

Lea and Isa took it in turn to tell the story. As teenagers, they used to sneak into the castle, because around then the experiments had started and people were disappearing. In there, they met a girl, a girl without any memory, and befriended her. Eventually, they decided to become apprentices in order to help not only her, but the others who were trapped there. And the rest was history--while Xehanort convinced Dilan, Even, and Aeleus to cast off their hearts voluntarily, Ienzo, Isa, and Lea were not so lucky. 

At this point, Lea pulled out a flask and both he and Isa drank deeply. They offered it to Demyx and he took a mouthful, but it burned and made him cough.

“We don’t have memory of what happened exactly,” Isa said.

“But all of a sudden we woke up and there were eight Nobodies.”

“Wow,” Demyx said softly. “That’s… really shitty.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Isa said. 

“Did you ever find out what happened to your friend?” Demyx asked.

Lea shook his head. “We have our guesses. She probably became a Heartless, or died. Either way, she hasn’t reappeared.”

For a moment, none of them spoke, and the only sound Demyx could hear was the quiet slosh of the flask and the crickets outside. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’ve already grieved her,” Isa said. “But… I think I will always wonder.”

“Anyway, how have you been?” Lea asked. 

“I’m… okay,” Demyx said. “Still figuring things out. You know. I have no idea what it is I’m supposed to do with my life.”

“Tell me about it,” Lea said. 

“We’ve been involved with Xehanort for so long. We scarcely know where to begin,” Isa said.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, though?” Lea asked. “To be human, just you and your sitar?”

The old lightbulb wavered. “I don’t have it anymore,” Demyx whispered.

Lea and Isa glanced at each other. Without another word, Lea handed Demyx the flask, and he took several good swallows. 

“...They say it’s part of being human,” Demyx said. “We don’t need our weapons.”

“But I’ve still got mine,  _ and _ the Keyblade,” Lea said. “Isn’t this part of you?”

He was starting to feel woozy, tipsy. “I thought so.”

“I was glad to be rid of mine. But I can see how that would be painful,” Isa said.

“You can’t give up on it,” Lea said. “Maybe the connection’s still there.”

“I don’t know how to find it. I don’t even have memories to help me. I just--”

Isa cut him off. “You don’t?”

“I thought you kept your old name as preference,” Lea said.

“I really don’t,” Demyx said. “It’s all fuzzy. It gets fuzzier day by day.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Lea asked.

“Not really. Not fully. What could they do for me? I’d get the same tired excuse, that my heart is still forming.”

Isa raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how that works. Why else would we have retained our memories as Nobodies? The heart only holds connections. It’s the mind that makes sense of things.”

It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room. 

“Demyx?” Lea said softly.

A hot, tight nausea washed over him. He ran outside of the shed and was promptly sick. 

“...You think he’s drunk?” He heard Lea ask Isa.

“Maybe so. Maybe it’s something else.”

Still half in a crouch, he felt Lea’s overly warm hand on his back. Weird, disjointed tears were running down Demyx’s face. 

“We should take you home,” Lea said. 

He was again feeling the same faintness he’d felt before, but this time there was no pain involved. Demyx tried to stand. Lea helped him up. 

“Lean against me,” he said.

“Deja vu,” Demyx said.

“What do you mean?”

He was still salivating, his whole mouth sour, and he spat. “FYI, I’m going to pass out,” he whispered, and like clockwork, he did.

* * *

 

A cold hand on his face. Demyx flinched, treading consciousness.

“It’s all right. Go back to sleep.” Ienzo’s voice. 

He blinked. His vision was so fuzzy. He’d been put back in his own bed and tucked in. It was still night, and the lamp on the bedside table gave the room a weird glow. “You came,” he said.

“I heard you were ill.”

Demyx sat up. His eyes were still adjusting. Ienzo was again pale, his complexion washed out. He blinked like it hurt--exactly like he’d been spending too many hours in front of a screen. “You’re tired,” he said. His voice was scratchy.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about me right now.”

His stomach was still off. “It’s okay. We were drinking, and I guess I’m not used to it. I’m fine.”

Ienzo’s gaze was sharp. “You don’t believe that,” he said simply. 

“Well, it’s true.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

Demyx again felt tears in his eyes and blinked them back. “I was with Lea and Isa,” he said falteringly. “They were talking about their human memories, and how it connected to their weapons, and how my sitar should still be a part of it and I…” He was hiccuping now. “I don’t remember, Ienzo. I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Almost nothing.”

Ienzo’s brows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t see why that is. If you’re human--or at least getting there--you should have no trouble remembering anything. I…” He seemed ready to keep thinking aloud, but seeing the expression on Demyx’s face, he kept it to himself. He pulled him into his arms, and Demyx couldn’t help but cling tightly. Everything in him seemed to be breaking down all at once. He sobbed against Ienzo’s shoulder until the muscles in his stomach hurt. Ienzo stroked his hair. Demyx tried to focus on that instead. “I’ll help you figure this out,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“Demyx, I’m positive this is not your fault.”

_ \--Ancient Keyblade legacy which slumbers within you-- _

_ Tell him.  _

He couldn’t get the words to come, no matter how hard he tried. He was so exhausted, and sick. 

Ienzo kissed his cheek. “Try to get some rest,” he said. “I’ll come find you tomorrow.”

_ Don’t go _ . He wanted so badly to ask Ienzo to stay with him. But he didn’t. Demyx watched the empty door frame after he left, cold to his core.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even approaches Demyx with the results of the DNA testing. Ienzo collapses from exhaustion.

IX.

The next morning, Demyx tried to stomach breakfast. It had been hard to sleep, and everything around him seemed dull.

Even barged into the kitchen, looking peaked, his eyes on fire. “Have you a moment?” he asked breathlessly. Demyx half expected Even to yell at him. He’d barely stood when Even had seized him by the wrist and towed him towards the lab.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked.

“I suppose, in a sense,” Even said. Once they reached the door, he let him go, and the momentum nearly caused Demyx to fall. “Your DNA has caused me to lose countless hours of sleep.”

“I...I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m guessing you didn’t find anything.”

“No. Precisely the opposite. Come here.” He gestured him towards one of the long tables, where several microscopes were lined up along with masses and masses of papers. Demyx didn’t know why he assumed Even was organized; the table was an absolute disaster. 

“I’ve parsed everything you’ve given me. Looking simply at your genome, I was… frustrated. It’s normal. See, have a look. If you compare yours--” Demyx peeked into the microscope, seeing nothing but a double helix. “--And mine, aside from the average differences owing to our makeups, they’re the same. But then… I decided to look at your epigenome. Have you heard of it?”

“Um… well… isn’t that stuff like… how I was raised?”

“Well, it’s countless different factors, like the amount of oxygen you received in the womb, and the food you’ve eaten. Which is why it’s taken me so long to isolate them, and then to make sense of them. Now, again, I used myself as the comparison point. If you look at yours…” He pulled out a folded, taped piece of paper, full of little lines with notes trailing each. “...And mine, it started to make sense. Of course nearly all of the markers are going to be different. Take a look at these.” He lay the two papers side by side. “These markers here… they’re kind of like the amount of time your body’s spent in the environment, so to speak. Hard to tell just by looking at the regular genome. I can  _ tell _ from your genome that you’re roughly twenty-two years of age, and you can tell from  _ mine _ that I am… well. It’s accurate, I can assure you. But these… these!” His nostrils flared. “Your temporal markers should at least  _ slightly _ resemble mine. They don’t. If I’m right at all… your little theory might have some purchase.”

“So you’re saying--” His throat was dry. “It’s true?”

“The initial tests seem to indicate that, yes.”

Demyx slumped against the table.

“I had the precise same reaction,” Even said. 

“It’s why I don’t remember,” Demyx said. 

“You’ve no memory?” Even asked.

“Only the dreams. Only what I’ve told you about.” He was shaking. “Am I really… did I really live through the Keyblade War?”

Even sighed. “You may very well have.”

“How? Why?”

“I’m thinking it has something to do with some sort of self-preservation. We all know that when the body and heart are in danger, especially if one is a Keyblade wielder, a person can produce otherwise impossible feats of magic. This had to be what Xemnas, and by extension, Xehanort saw in you.”

Demyx couldn’t breathe. His mind flashed to the piles of bodies from his nightmare. It must’ve been real. 

“I don’t know if it’s possible to awaken those memories. It would most definitely be too much for your new heart to take.” Even shook his head. “Fate… is cruel.” 

“I don’t want this. I just… I just wanted to play sitar,” Demyx whispered. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. He took one last look at Even and ran out the door.

* * *

 

Demyx spent the rest of the day, and the next several, in a numb, dissociated daze. He did everything on autopilot. A small part of him, the only part that seemed at all alive, missed Ienzo. He hadn’t seen him at all, and he hoped he was okay. It was hard to tell. 

He decided to bring him lunch, if only to have something to look forward to. He made several sandwiches and brought them through the long, meandering corridors to the computer room. The castle felt empty and hollow, but then again everything did at the moment. 

If Even’s lab was a disaster, Ansem’s was positively apocalyptic.

Whatever counter space surrounded the computer console was a sea of books, papers, and empty glasses. Posters covered the walls, connected with disjointed bits of tape. There was so much mess that Demyx barely saw Ansem in the sea of white.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt,” Demyx said. “I brought you guys some food.”

Ansem’s head snapped up from the computer. Ienzo was nowhere to be found. “That’s very kind.”

“...Where’s Ienzo?”

“Ah, coincidentally, he went off looking for you.” Ansem looked positively zombie-like. Even through a small pair of reading glasses, his eyes were glassy and red. “I’m pleased you two have struck up a rapport. He could use a free-spirited friend his own age.”

_ We’ve struck up something, alright _ . He bit his lip. “Thanks. I think.” He set down the bundle on the smallest pile of papers close to Ansem. “Well, if he’s looking for me I should try to find him. And… er… Master?”

Ansem chuckled. “You’re not my apprentice. You needn’t fuss with the honorifics.”

“You should take a break too. No offense, you look terrible.”

“I appreciate your concern.” Ansem sat down on one of the chairs in the room. He reached for one of the sandwiches. “Yes, perhaps I… will take a few minutes…”

Demyx nodded and treaded the path in reverse, backtracking almost all the way to his room. He saw the wisp of white as Ienzo crossed into the kitchen. Demyx followed him and stopped cold.

Ienzo was covered in blood, clutching his nose and mouth.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice high with stress. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed. Very bad one. Nothing to worry about,” he said around the cloth pressed to his face. “Air too dry.”

Demyx guided him over to a chair. He really had lost a scary amount of blood. The white jacket was most likely ruined. He poured him a glass of orange juice. Demyx watched with a morbid fascination as he switched a soaked handkerchief for a dry one. Concern welled up in him. “Lean forward,” Demyx said. “You don’t want to swallow it.”

“It usually doesn’t take this long to stop,” Ienzo said, flinching. 

“Do you usually get them?”

“Only when I… oh.” He exhaled.

“Only when you overwork?” Demyx asked. “You haven’t rested at all since the last time I saw you, have you?”

Ienzo took the cloth away from his face. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but he was dangerously pale. 

“Drink your juice,” he said, scowling.

Ienzo reached for his cup. His eyes were glassy, and hollow, like Ansem’s. He flinched and touched his head.

“You should lay down,” Demyx said. “Please.” 

“I will. I…” He hissed in pain. 

“Do you want me to get Even?”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ienzo stood; or rather he tried to. Demyx sensed what happened before he saw it. Ienzo collapsed into an exhausted heap. Demyx caught him under the armpits. He seemed completely unable to support himself. Demyx eased him to the ground.

He hadn’t fully lost consciousness; he had a dizzy, vacant look on his face, which was somehow worse. Demyx patted Ienzo’s cheek. “Hey. Hey, Ienzo. Talk to me.” Maybe he’d gone mute? Was that it? “Squeeze my hand.” No response; he was totally limp. Demyx’s breath caught. He tried to raise his voice, to scream for help, but fear had sealed his throat shut. 

Demyx was able to lift Ienzo himself, but only barely. Thankfully his bedroom was only a few doors down. He lay Ienzo down on the bed and then ran for Even. Hurriedly he explained what happened and then they were both running back. Demyx tried to keep his distance as Even fretted over Ienzo, taking vitals and sticking him with needles of this and that, leaving him with a hanging bag of fluid.

“I told him,” Demyx whispered. “I told him to take care of himself.”

“He only listens when he wants to,” Even said. He shook his head. 

“Is that what this is? Something because of overwork?”

Even sighed. “He’s really done a number on himself. Exhaustion, dehydration, low blood sugar, cortisol levels dangerously high. The blood loss must have only exacerbated his condition. Best you found me when you did. With rest, and the proper care, though… he’ll recover.”

Somewhere in this Ienzo stirred, the vacant look in his eye clearing slightly. “Demyx?” he asked dazedly. 

He took Ienzo’s hand and crouched by the bed.

“What…?” he asked, very weakly.

“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.”

Tears clouded his eyes, but he didn’t fight them.

Without thinking, Demyx kissed his forehead. “You’re going to be okay. You just have to get some sleep. I’ll be right here.” 

He nodded and shut his eyes, too exhausted to put it off any longer.

“So.  _ That _ is the nature of your connection with Ienzo,” Even said.

Demyx turned, bright chagrin washing through him. 

Even raised an eyebrow. “He  _ has _ mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?”

“I don’t know,” Demyx said. “But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”

Even exhaled. “It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes,” he said. “But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes. I know.”

“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am  _ much _ too tired.” Even shook his head. “I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”

“I will,” Demyx said. And they were left there alone.

* * *

 

Ienzo slept. And slept. Even came and went several times to change the fluid and give him a few more shots. He moved so rarely that Demyx worried he was actually comatose and not just deeply asleep. 

Demyx was afraid to stray too far from him. After a little while, Ansem arrived, looking more haggard than ever. He stroked the top of Ienzo’s head. “I feel I have failed you already,” Ansem said to him. He stared down at him for a long moment, then looked to Demyx. “May I have a word?”

Demyx sensed what was coming. He nodded. Once they were in the hallway he didn’t let Ansem get a word in edgewise. “This needs to stop,” he said. “The way you two are working, you’re going to kill yourselves. And that’s not fair to him.”

Ansem said softly, “I agree. Several days’ rest are required.”

“Longer,” Demyx insisted. “Even said that if he had pushed himself any longer it could’ve been worse. And I’m sure you’re sick too. Let him look at you.”

“That is a… very empathetic reaction. Yes. I agree. We will rest.”

“I’m not going to let him near that lab. I’ll…” He didn’t know  _ what  _ he’d do, but it would be something.

Ansem chuckled. “Before I go sleep, I want to address your relationship with Ienzo.”

There it was. “Even told you?”

“Yes. At first I was… opposed. You are both dealing with the trauma of your pasts, and the newness of your humanity must be even more intense at your young age. But I haven’t seen Ienzo happier or more at ease in a long time. I would be loath to take that from him.”

This was Ienzo  _ relaxed? _

“You have a compassion that I did not anticipate. And in the end, this isn’t my choice. Treat my boy gently.” Ansem squeezed Demyx’s shoulder. “Treat yourself well too.” He headed off towards his quarters, whistling softly. 

Well. At least there was that.

Demyx resumed his vigil. About eighteen hours after he initially collapsed, Ienzo stirred again. Demyx crossed over to him. “Hey,” he said. “Nice nap?”

Ienzo rubbed at his eyes, noticing the tube in his hand. “You’re still here.”

“Well, of course. You scared the crap out of me.”

Ienzo glanced down at his shirt, faintly stained with blood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I should have listened.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I  _ do _ trust you,” Ienzo said.

“Then why didn’t you listen?”

He looked out the window. “I thought I was  _ so  _ close to a solution,” he said. “And… when Roxas and the others visited, seeing their faces so full of hope… and knowing that I gave it to them… I could not in good conscience take myself away.”

“Okay, but, you know if you had gone much longer without sleep, or even  _ water _ , you might not have woken up.”

A long pause while he digested that. “Is it true what you said?”

“What?”

“To Even.”

“You… you heard all that?”

“Yes.”

He felt the blood rush to his face. “Yeah. It is. I care about you.” Demyx touched Ienzo’s cheek. “Why else would I get up in Ansem’s face?”

“You… did that?” He blanched.

“Yep. And he says I’m right. You’re going to rest. You and I are going to hardcore  _ chill _ for at least a week. You’re going to learn from the expert.”

“A week away from my work? With you? That might be…” He nodded. “That might be manageable.”

Demyx kissed him once, lightly. “I’m glad you think so, because unfortunately it’s out of your hands. Doctor’s orders. Well… is Ansem a doctor?”

Ienzo shrugged. “He has at least one doctorate. I’m unsure if it’s in medicine.”

“Yeah. Well, either way, I’m right.”

Ienzo stretched. “I should like to clean up and change. Perhaps eat. I slept for so long but I could very nearly go back to sleep.”

“You need it. Do what your body wants.”

He nodded. After a moment’s pause, he kissed Demyx again. “I have missed you.”

Demyx squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

 

Ienzo slept the rest of the afternoon and into the next morning. When he finally came into the kitchen, he was looking a bit mussed, but his color was almost normal. 

“Oh hey, you don’t look like a zombie anymore,” Demyx said.

“I do feel quite a lot better,” he admitted. “Not…  _ good,  _ but better.”

They had breakfast. Ienzo was wearing some thick green sweater Demyx had never seen before. He wondered how much of his white coat getup was actually a uniform. “So what do you want to do today?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve really… no idea,” he said. “I think we have different ideas what constitutes leisure.”

Demyx snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got it. First thing we’re going to do is go back to bed.” When Ienzo blanched and turned bright red, Demyx started to panic. “Not like that! God, get your mind out of the gutter, Ienzo. Haven’t you ever spent the day in bed?” 

“Well--maybe when I was very ill,” he said. He was still blushing. Demyx couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever thought about sex, but then before he could go very far down that path he abruptly cut off the train of thought.

“Maybe that’s what you need. Sometimes it’s good to just do  _ nothing. _ ”

“That sounds… very nearly boring,” Ienzo said.

“Kinda the point. You gotta give your brain a rest. Away from all the stimuli.”

“Okay. I’ll try,” he said. “If only because my critical thinking feels dangerously frazzled.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They returned to his room. There was just enough room on the bed that they didn’t have to touch. Ienzo settled back down against the pillows. “So we just do  _ nothing _ ,” he repeated.

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I guess you could read, or something. But nothing strenuous.” He got back up and turned towards the bookshelf and picked what seemed to be the first book in a series that took up a big part of it. “What about this one?”

Ienzo cracked a smile. “That one? I haven’t read it since I was a boy. It’s a silly fantasy story.”

“All the more reason to revisit it now. And besides, there’s got to be a reason you’ve kept it.”

“All right… well… I suppose…” But there was an eager glint in his eye.

Demyx settled down next to Ienzo on the bed so they could both see the page. The text was large, and Demyx wasn’t a slow reader by any account, but of course Ienzo was faster than him. “Can you go back? I missed that whole part.” 

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He flipped back. “I have a better idea.” He began to read aloud in a low, soothing voice. At first it felt a little perfunctory, but then Demyx saw him disappear into the story, which was about ancient heroes and impossible magic and endless quests with disparate twists and turns. Somewhere in the reading he leaned against Demyx, apparently distracted, resting his head against his chest. Demyx let his arm curve around Ienzo’s waist. He didn’t tense or flinch away. The warmth and weight calmed him, easing an ache he hadn’t previously been aware of.

Several of the long, meandering chapters later, Ienzo marked the page and set the book aside. “Throat’s dry,” he said, and reached for the glass of water at the bedside table.

Demyx could listen to Ienzo talk for hours. But the silence was fine, too. Ienzo leaned back against him. 

“Yes. I… think I could do with a week of this,” he mumbled.

For a long time they held each other. Demyx stroked his hair. The sleepy, comfortable tenderness of the moment lulled him into a sort of daze, and the next thing he knew he was waking up. They’d both slipped down against the pillows. 

“We fell asleep,” Ienzo said softly. He cracked his neck and then winced at an apparent crick. 

“Just a nap, I think.”

“I feel… soft, if that makes sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair to fix it, shook his head, and let it be a lost cause.

“Because you’re actually relaxing for once. All that tension you carry around all the time isn’t supposed to be there. The fact that this feels unfamiliar to you is more than a little concerning.”

“Times like this make me uncomfortably aware of my unusual upbringing,” he said with a shake of his head. “Maybe I was wrong about you. In the Organization, I mean. Maybe you weren’t as lazy as I thought.”

Demyx laughed. “No, I was. I really was.”

“Not so much anymore.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t been around a whole lot lately. You don’t know what I get up to.”

“What  _ is _ it you do all day?”

How could he admit that he was just waiting for Ienzo to get back? “Just kinda wander,” Demyx said. “Through the castle. Through town. I like exploring.”

“As do I. Part of the reason why I always looked forward to reconnaissance missions. People are so very  _ fascinating _ . But now… it seems like I need a better understanding of myself. How do I synthesize Zexion and Ienzo? At some point do I draw a line between the two? How much of him still lives in me?”

“I think about the same thing every day,” Demyx admitted. “I feel like the last month or so has been one very long, very tedious identity crisis.”

““Tedious” surely is the right word for it.”

“Stressful.”

“Wrenching.”

“Annoying.”

Ienzo smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”

“‘Course I do.” 

Ienzo hesitated for a moment, then threw his arms around Demyx, hugging tightly enough that he could actually feel his heart racing. The air shifted infetismally. Ienzo looked up at him. “May I ki--”

But Demyx, who had already picked up the hint, was already kissing him. There it was again, the sense of things becoming still deeper, still more intense. He understood Ienzo’s trepidation. It would be so easy to get lost in this, to let it unground him. Ienzo’s hands, at the small of his back, trembled. He pulled back the fabric of Demyx’s shirt until he found bare skin. As much self-control as he had, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting, and he got hard. If Ienzo noticed, he didn’t say anything, instead continuing to trace light patterns across Demyx’s back. 

All the while he’d been waiting for Ienzo to be ready. Demyx wondered if he wasn’t as prepared as he thought. He broke away from the kiss and instead trailed across Ienzo’s jaw and throat. The soft gasp Ienzo made sent another flush of warmth through him.

“Let me know if you want to stop,” Demyx whispered.

“I don’t,” he said, in the strangest voice Demyx had ever heard from him. Demyx rested against him for a moment, feeling his heart going completely wild. They both fought for breath. “You’re shaking,” he added.

“Am I? I feel so  _ much _ \--”

“I do too.” He kissed him again. He delicately worked off Demyx’s shirt. Things between them were becoming heavy, and weighty. Ienzo didn’t resist when Demyx took off his sweater, but before things went much further than that he saw the scarring.

That day in the study room, the scars hadn’t looked very prominent. But now they were impossible to ignore. They cut across Ienzo’s collarbone and the base of his throat. Suddenly Demyx understood his preference for high-collared shirts.

But--Zexion hadn’t had those scars--

Ienzo seemed to come to his senses for a moment. “It’s how I passed,” he said quietly. “As a Nobody.”

Demyx touched them. The skin was soft, slightly ridged; he pressed his lips against it. Ienzo pushed up against him and and Demyx noticed for the first time that he was also--

He shifted his weight, pulling Ienzo under him, and for a moment they were all hands and mouths and a disjointed tangle of longing before they pulled apart. 

“I can’t,” Ienzo stuttered. “I want to, but I--”

Part of him was relieved. “I know. Me too. It’s just so… much. I thought I was ready. But I…” He lay back down on the bed next to Ienzo. He gave him as much space as the bed allowed. Ienzo stared up at the ceiling. Demyx thought he had gone nonverbal, but then he spoke.

“...Does it hurt?”

Demyx blinked. “Does it--you mean--?”

Without making eye contact, he nodded.

“No. I mean, it’s uncomfortable the first time, a little, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“So you’ve done it, then?”

“...A few times. Not that much.” He swallowed, feeling self-conscious. He sat up. “To clarify, we’re talking about sex, right? Not astrophysics? Because if that’s the case I’m hopeless.”

Ienzo laughed.

“Like I said. When we’re ready.  _ If _ we’re ready. I shouldn’t assume--”

“When,” Ienzo said quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A calm morning out ends badly when Demyx and Ienzo make a discovery about Ienzo's family.

X.

Demyx slept deeply, and soundlessly. Admittedly he spent the first few minutes of the morning thinking about the previous afternoon, remembering and wanting touch, finally giving in and taking care of it himself. All traces of any misdeeds washed away in the bath, he got ready for the day. When he saw Ienzo buried in a book at the kitchen table, he was ready to get angry; but it was the same book from yesterday. He kissed him good morning and relished in the fact that he could even do that much. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why do you always keep your hair in your face? Is it an aesthetic thing?”

“You sound like Even,” Ienzo said, shaking his head. “Partially, I suppose. When I was little the weight of it would help me avoid sensory overload. Now it's just habit more than anything. I assure you I can see quite well."

“Really?”

“Yes. Seeing or hearing too much would cause me intense anxiety, especially certain pitches. Not so much anymore."

“Mythology,” Demyx said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just want to learn more about you. That’s all.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Can I see it?”

“It looks like the other one. But, I suppose, if it will sate your curiosity.” He pulled aside his bangs. Ienzo was right; there was no discernible difference. But it was nice to look him fully in the eye. 

“...You have a nice face,” Demyx said.

“...Thank you. I-I don’t have any strong feelings about it,” he said, with a laugh. 

“So what do you want to do today?” Demyx asked. 

“I’m not so sure. It might be nice to get outside. I hear the weather is good.”

“You hear things, but you don’t know.” Demyx sighed. “You have so got to get out more.”

“Precisely why I suggested it,” Ienzo said. 

The season was just barely turning, with hints of cold in the breeze. They walked, hand in hand, through the quiet. 

“The light feels good,” Ienzo said. “I feel as though I’ve lived here, but I haven’t been a part of it.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Morning, midweek, the marketplace was nearly empty. They browsed, a bit emptily, but nothing caught either of their eyes. Demyx bought a bag of roasted seeds and they ate it slowly to have something to do.

“I’m going to have to get a job,” Demyx said, counting the change in his palm. “I’m almost out of money.”

“Now that I’d like to see,” Ienzo said.

“What happened to the ambition you saw in me?”

“It doesn’t  _ necessarily _ relate to making a wage. Lucky for you, you get room and board free.”

“Cool. Great. Now even you don’t believe in me.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Could always ask to make you my research assistant.”

“Yeah, like that’d go over well.” Demyx snorted. 

Ienzo laughed. “You’d be miserable. You’d quit within the hour.”

“Well--with you it might not be so bad.”

“No, I’d find you much too distracting. In multiple ways.” 

Demyx squeezed his hand.

“Besides, your talents lie elsewhere.”

For a little while they sat and fed the birds with the remaining seeds. 

“...I don’t know what will happen,” Demyx said, scattering a handful on the ground. 

“In the future? Or in general?”

“Both,” he said. “I mean, I thought I would know, once I became human. But I feel pretty aimless. Haven’t you thought about what will happen after Sora? Will you keep doing experiments?”

“I have not… put much thought in it,” Ienzo said. “Yes, maybe I would research something else? But I haven’t the slightest idea what it would be. Part of me thought I would never make it this far. But here I am. And here you are. And my life has taken turns I never thought possible. I… I don’t know.” His hands fluttered at his throat. “This existence scares me.”

“Me too. So much.”

“I could spend my whole life thinking about what it means to be human after all that and still be wrong.” He hesitated. “I know it’s early yet. But I hope that you might be perhaps involved in some way.”

He felt like he was full of light. He leaned over and kissed him softly. The kiss deepened, but Demyx broke away before it could become unsuitable for public. All this warmth and tenderness and comfort… maybe he didn’t know much about humanity, and maybe their connection was still growing, but Demyx was almost sure that he lo--

“Shall we head back?” Ienzo asked. “I’m feeling a little tired now.”

Demyx jerked, like he was coming out of a dream. “Yeah. Of course.”

They took the short way home, back through residential backstreets that were largely abandoned. People who had once lived here had either died, become Heartless, or plain didn’t return to Radiant Garden. There was an icy vacancy that the rest of the town lacked, and Demyx shuddered. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“I don’t like it either,” Ienzo said. “Let’s hurry. Might be Heartless about.”

They picked up their pace slightly. Several of the homes here were shrouded by overgrown shrubs. Ienzo stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s up?” Demyx asked.

“This place feels… familiar.” He approached the door to one of the homes and brushed the dirt off the nameplate. His back was to Demyx; he couldn’t see his expression. Ienzo reached for the door, hanging slightly off its hinges with age and decay.

“You know it?” Demyx asked.

He was silent for a moment. Looking in on the darkened room, he said in a strained voice, “This used to be my home. This is the first time I’ve come out to this part of town in many years.”

“You mean… with your parents?”

He nodded. 

The wind blew coldly.

Ienzo pushed through the half-open door. Demyx hesitated. A place with this much bad energy--especially tied up in emotion--was bound to be crawling with Heartless, something Ienzo no doubt knew. But he seemed to be in a trance. 

It was an average home, one that had no doubt once been beautifully furnished. The walls, once a soft peach if the odd preserved patch meant anything, were grayed, and cracked open in places. “Someone must have been after the copper piping,” Demyx muttered. “Assholes.”

The windows were blown out. If there had been nice things, they were broken or had been stolen, and glass littered the threadbare carpet.

Ienzo was breathing quickly. Demyx could see it in the set of his shoulders. He took Ienzo’s hand. “We really should go.” But Ienzo pulled away from him. He knelt down and pulled something out of the glass and dirt.

An old photo. There was a young man and woman, smiling happily. They were dressed professionally, like they were academics. Between them was a younger Ienzo. 

“Do you want to take that with you?” Demyx asked. “We can frame it. Make a memorial for them.”

“I thought I would feel something.”

“What?”

There was a terrifying furrow of rawness in his voice. “Demyx, I don’t feel anything.”

He didn’t know what to say. He fumbled. “You know how when you’re about to cry or have a panic attack and everything is numb? I think that’s how you feel.”

“I’m a monster. It's my fault that they--”

Demyx exhaled. “That’s not true. Don’t you ever say that about yourself.” The air in the room shifted. In the corner, Demyx saw the shadows begin to pulse. “Ienzo, we have to go  _ now.” _

“If they knew what I was responsible for--”

“You need to calm down. There are Heartless and they’re reacting to you.”

“...then they’d wish I’d never been born.”

The shadows became solid, their gold eyes glowing in the dark. These weren’t weak Shadows, but their stronger, merciless counterparts. “Ienzo, please.” But when he remained motionless, Demyx knew he had to do something. He wrapped his arms around his waist and hauled him up, ready to drag him out the door if that’s what it took.

Ienzo resisted, positively thrashing against him in an aimless, traumatized way. His elbows beat against his ribs. Demyx could feel tears in his eyes. 

“Ienzo--”

He screamed. It was a weird, animal sound that set Demyx’s teeth on edge. Clearly he was deep in some memory, something not dealt with, maybe something he’d previously repressed.

He finally got him past the door frame and they collapsed painfully onto the street, Ienzo’s elbows digging into his chest and knocking the breath out of him. Demyx pushed him off and ran to the door, slamming it hard and watching the jam for several anxious moments, waiting for the Heartless to appear, but they seemed to have delved back into their nest. Apparently they weren’t hungry.

Demyx turned back to Ienzo.

He’d curled into a ball and was rocking slightly, an empty look in his face. Demyx knelt down next to him and touched his shoulder. He looked up, the emptiness slowly giving way to pain, and he burst into tears.

Demyx held him for a long time as he cried. The sound of it felt like it would shatter him, and he cried a little too. After a while the sobbing subsided, but Ienzo shook, his whole frame quaking. Demyx kissed his forehead. “You ready to stand?” he asked. “It’s going to be dark soon. I don’t trust that nest.”

He said nothing, locked deep in himself. Demyx helped him up. Ienzo pulled away, hugging himself tightly.

Demyx sighed. “I’m sorry I had to force you like that. I just didn’t want them to attack you. Especially when you were so vulnerable. You get that, right?”

He began walking, heading off towards the castle. Being nonverbal was one thing; he was completely numb. Demyx noticed the photo on the ground. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. He stayed several paces behind Ienzo. Demyx couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow his fault, even though there really wasn’t anything he could’ve done. Triggers were triggers. 

Once they got back to the castle, Ienzo went to his room and shut the door. The message could not have been clearer:  _ leave me alone. _

It began to rain.

It took Demyx a long time to fall asleep that night. When he finally did, he was bombarded with images of the inside of that house, crawling with darkness, until he saw watched it tear him and Ienzo apart.

The images shifted, turned into the Keyblade Graveyard. People in armor, alive, but instead of fighting monsters they were fighting each other, ruthless in their blows and magical attacks. And he was running hard and fast, trying to get away from it all, but everywhere there were swarms of them, until gradually they started coming after him too, and then--

Being shaken. The memory was hesitant to let him go, but at last it did. It was dark, still night; and the wind was howling.

“You were having a nightmare,” Ienzo said. Demyx couldn’t see his expression. 

“...Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep. And I know that if I’m alone I’ll only torment myself.” It seemed to take a lot to admit this; his whole body sagged.

Demyx sighed. “Come here.” He lifted the covers and Ienzo crawled under. There wasn’t much room on this small bed for them to spread out, but Ienzo didn’t seem worried about space. He rested his head against Demyx’s chest and breathed shakily. 

“Your heart’s still racing,” he said. “What were you dreaming about?”

Ienzo was no doubt too brittle to be able to take in the enormity of the truth--not only was Demyx somehow hundreds of years older than him, but was also apparently a war survivor and a Keyblade wielder?  _ Yucky. _ Demyx pushed those thoughts down, and lied. “I already forgot.”

It rained. They listened to it patter on the old window.

“I thought I could handle it on my own,” Ienzo said. “But I can’t. Doesn’t that make me weak?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“You were having a flashback. You weren’t in control of yourself.” Demyx could also feel Ienzo’s pulse, still heightened with anxiety. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. That’s alright.”

He held him for a while, stroked his hair, let him breathe. Eventually, Ienzo’s heart rate slowed to normal. His warmth and weight soothed Demyx, brought him down to somewhere very near sleep. 

“Will you stay?” he asked Ienzo. 

“Yes.”

* * *

 

Morning. It was still downpouring, and the light in the room was a dreary gray. Ienzo, lying against him, was still asleep, momentarily at peace. They could always wake up like this, together. 

But Demyx would have to tell him about his past somehow. How could he tell him when he didn’t know much himself? Would Ienzo be mad? Would he consider this lying? He just wanted to be good enough, and strong enough, to be the person Ienzo needed.

Somewhere in this complicated thought process, Ienzo woke up. He lifted his head long enough to see the rain and lay back down. “What a gloomy morning,” he said. 

“You sleep okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes. You make a good pillow.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’m still so very tired.”

“It’s the weather. And yesterday was a long day.”

“Very, very long.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’d mind if we stayed here for a while.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I’ve always loved the sound of the rain. Especially in the spring. It’s so cleansing. It makes me want to curl up with a cup of tea. Read something halfway decent. I can't remember the last time I read a novel for the pleasure of it.” He yawned. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe.”

He propped himself up on an elbow. “I’m glad you’re here,” Ienzo said. “I can only imagine how… difficult this experience would be otherwise.”

Demyx was thrown momentarily for a loop. “I… I’m glad I’m here too.”

He kissed him. It was a sort of kiss built on comfort and trust, in a way different than any of their previous. The pureness of the vulnerability was overwhelming.

That was the moment Demyx fell for him. 

The kiss changed, became heavier, less hesitant. He pulled his fingers through Ienzo’s hair and pressed his lips against the old scars, making peace with them. They were together now, and there was more strength in that than he anticipated. Ienzo shifted his weight, pulling his legs around Demyx’s hips and slipping his hands up under his shirt. His hands were so soft and Demyx’s sides were so sensitive that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He let him take the shirt off, aware suddenly that the only other piece of clothing he had on was his underwear because that was all he usually wore to sleep.

He slipped off Ienzo’s shirt and for a moment they lay skin to skin, struggling for air. Ienzo traced the innumerable scars on Demyx’s chest, left there by Sora and who knew what else. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” Ienzo said, his voice catching slightly. 

“It’s okay. I mean…” For some reason he thought he might cry, though he wasn’t upset by any means. “Are you sure you want to try something? We just talked about this two days ago.”

He nodded, and Demyx could tell he meant it from the soft glint in his eye. “Yes. Are you?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. Something vital between them had shifted. No more doubt. “Yeah. I guess I kind of am.”

Ienzo laughed. 

“I think… maybe it would be easier if we switched spots?” He was feeling anxious again, though more differently, flightier. “Just because you’re starting from scratch, here.”

“What, are you an expert?” Ienzo asked in a low voice that sent chills through him. “You know I learn fast.”

Demyx couldn’t help but kiss him for that.

“You’re right though,” Ienzo said shakily. “For now.” He lay back against the pillows. It felt slightly less spontaneous than before to get on top of him. Even in the gray light Demyx could see the flush in his skin. But his hands didn’t shake. 

“You can relax, okay?” he said. “Do whatever feels natural to you.”

Ienzo helped him take off his thin cotton pants and then reached for Demyx’s underwear.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said quickly.

“I want to.”

And just like that they were naked. Demyx could not get over the strangeness of the moment, but it all felt  _ right _ . Every nerve was twice as alive. Demyx kissed him. Every feeling and touch eddied into the next, achingly. Demyx was shaking as he touched his skin. Every bit of Ienzo was still more surprising. Soft. Supple. Surprisingly wiry. 

Ienzo gripped the hand that was touching him and squeezed it once. 

_ I am completely lost,  _ Demyx thought, but then,  _ do I care? _ It took a moment to find the nerve to let his hand dip lower and lower still, across the curve of his lip and his inner thigh to his dick. 

The response was instantaneous. Ienzo gasped, hardening a little more with the slightest touch. Demyx could feel himself getting even more turned on. As gently as he could, he stroked him a few times. Touching someone else like this had never made him feel so vulnerable before. Ienzo was breathing hard and fast. His hands knotted at the nape of Demyx's neck, catching in his hair. 

“Is that good?” Demyx asked. His voice was husky, as though he might cry. 

Ienzo kissed him in response. His bucked up against Demyx’s hand, the muscles in his thighs tensing against him. Even though Demyx wasn’t being touched himself, knots of tension began building in the pit of his stomach, almost sweetly painful. Hearing and feeling him react was almost too much. It was more than he thought it would be, more emotional, too. 

He began to move a little less hesitantly. Ienzo's grip on him tightened. “I feel…” he said in that same strange voice, but couldn’t complete the sentence. 

“Are you going to come? It’s okay. Let it happen.”

He stifled a moan against Demyx’s shoulder and he felt the rush of heat against his thigh. Ienzo’s grip loosened, and when Demyx saw his hands they were trembling. “I…”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I’m… a little dizzy.”

“Just relax.” His own hands were shaking. The want was almost painful, but Ienzo’s comfort was far more important. He seemed almost shocked, a touch shaken. He straightened his legs and then looked down. Demyx lay on his side and pulled the sheet quickly over his own body, but Ienzo had seen. 

“You’re still--”

“I’ll live.”

“It doesn’t seem fair.”  He lay on his side. “If you want some privacy, I can step out.”

“Really, Ienzo. I’ll be okay.” 

“...Okay.”

Demyx lay down next to him, as much as the small bed would allow. 

Ienzo seemed to regain his composure somewhat, relaxing more naturally. “...So this is what people are always obsessing about,” he said. “I finally have some insight.”

“Well--I mean, there are other things people do.”

“No. When people write of longing, is  _ this _ what people are seeking?”

“You’re a scientist. You can say it. “Orgasm.” You came on my thigh.”

Ienzo wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I did.”

“Did it not live up to your expectations?” he asked, only half joking.

“I didn’t have any expectations,” he said. “Only what I’ve heard.”

Demyx was so shocked he nearly sat up. “You mean you never-- _ ever _ \--” 

Ienzo shrugged. “My life has been peculiar.”

“I can’t believe this. You’ve  _ never _ masturbated? You’ve never come  _ in your sleep _ ?”

“Believe it or not. These are simply feelings I’ve never had to act on. Consciously or no. Chalk it up to an emotionless puberty.”

“Holy shit. I don’t know if I should feel honored, or if I’ve completely corrupted you.” The talk was distracting Demyx, which was good. 

Ienzo laughed. “I don’t feel corrupted. And I should know. No. I feel… clean, if that makes sense. Despite the evidence otherwise.”

It did make sense. Not only was there a sense of release (for him, anyway), but the trust there was stronger, less superficial. 

“And yet. If you’d have told me last year that  _ this _ would have happened, I’d have gone positively feral,” Ienzo said. “This life is so strange.”

“The strangest,” Demyx agreed. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation of Demyx and Ienzo's relationship makes for an awkward dinner. New information puts Ienzo's plan to help Sora in jeopardy.

XI.

The weather seemed to change overnight. The castle was drafty and damp, which made it even harder to get out of bed the next morning. At least Ansem gave them money to get more suitable clothing, so Demyx and Ienzo spent the day shopping. There wasn’t much left of the week; soon Ienzo would be back to work, and Demyx would be back to doing nothing. The thought was not appealing. He decided that if Ienzo was going to work, so would he. There had to be someone that needed help. What about the committee? It didn’t even matter if it paid (though that would be nice); he just needed something to help get him through the days.

He helped Ienzo cook dinner for everyone that night. Ienzo gave him the tedious jobs, slicing vegetables in at least four different ways, and each time he would place his hand gently over the one that held the knife and would say, “No, like this,” which, admittedly, was not much incentive for Demyx to do much better.

“Why’d you learn to cook?” Demyx asked him. 

Ienzo consulted the recipe in front of him, scattering teaspoons of this and that into a pot. “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but we apprentices tend to view our bodies more as vessels for the mind more than anything else. The meals I were raised on were nutritious, but bland. It frustrated me when I was younger, so I did research.” He shrugged. “It’s something I enjoy doing. Objective. Harmless.”

Demyx pointed to the still-fading scar on his hand.

“ _ Largely _ harmless,” he corrected. “More so than my other research. Are those carrots ready?” His mood had shifted, becoming slightly melancholic. He corrected Demyx’s poor cuts and then dropped them into the mixture. 

“Are you beating yourself up again?” Demyx asked. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You always ask questions about me. That doesn’t seem fair. Tell me more about you.”

He started slicing down the potatoes in front of him. “There’s not a whole lot to know,” he said. “You know about as much about me as I do.”

“...So you haven’t remembered anything else?”

Demyx’s heart quivered. He knew he had to tell Ienzo. Was now a good a time as any? “There is one thing,” he said. “Um, it’s kind of a doozy though.”

Ienzo looked at him. “Pray tell.”

Demyx exhaled and set down his knife. “Well. Don’t freak out. But--”

“Oh, boys, that smells absolutely incredible.” Ansem. Of course. 

“Ienzo did all the work,” Demyx said, frustration and a backlog of anxiety washing through him. “I’m just moral support.”

“That’s not true. He’s trying,” Ienzo said. “It’ll be ready in about an hour. I hope you’ll be joining us?” His voice hitched slightly. 

“I shall.” He paused slightly. “You look much improved. Perhaps I shall take a page out of Demyx’s book.” 

“I am… feeling rather better.” He stirred the pot in motions that were a little too even. 

“And you were both able to find good things for winter?”

“Yeah. Thanks again,” Demyx said.

Ansem smiled. “Like I said, I wish for you to be comfortable here. Winters in Radiant Garden can be… bracing, if one is not used to it. I can feel it even now. Perhaps, Demyx, if you wouldn’t mind, you can help Aeleus light the boilers sometime in the next coming days?”

Demyx blinked. “I don’t know why I’d be the right one for the job.”

“He needs assistance. I’m afraid with all of us tied up in our work, and Dilan still acting as guard, we’re one pair of hands short.”

“I’m happy to help,” Demyx mumbled. He turned back to his potatoes. He could tell Ienzo was positively bursting to ask about the status of the research; his lips were pursed, as though he were physically restraining the words.

“I shall see you in an hour,” Ansem said.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Ienzo said. He added some thyme to the soup. “Well. What is it you wanted to tell me?” 

“...Nothing. It can wait.” He forced a smile. 

“So you’re happy to help,” Ienzo said. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to talk up Master Ansem, or if I’ve been a good influence on you.”

It took more strength than usual to return the banter. “Neither. It really is cold as fuck in here!”

“I’m afraid even with the heating it doesn’t get much better. This place is very old, poorly insulated. You’d better brace yourself. Though admittedly… it occurs to to me there is one way to keep warm.”

His heart flew into his throat. Demyx turned slightly. Ienzo kissed him with a fervor, pressing him against the counter. The sudden warmth fought with his anxiety, settling somewhere halfway. “Ienzo!” he gasped in surprise. 

“When this week ends, we won’t have that much time together,” Ienzo said. 

“I’m  _ not _ going to let you overwork yourself like that again. You can’t get rid of me.”

“Is that a promise?”

Demyx kissed him. For a moment he forgot nearly everything else, kissing Ienzo’s throat and lacing his fingers through his hair. The only thing that interrupted them was the loud sloshing as the pot boiled over. Ienzo swore and dropped the burner’s heat to “low.” “Later?” Demyx asked.

“Later.”

Dinner that night was… awkward, to say the least.

It was the first time they had all gathered in Ansem’s quarters in a few weeks. Despite boiling over, the soup came out at least passably good. That was not the issue. 

The circular table was somehow hierarchical. Demyx hadn’t noticed this last time. Apparently, by sitting next to Ienzo he was violating some unspoken rule, if Even’s scowl meant anything. The others didn’t really comment on this, but Dilan and Aeleus exchanged a glance. Even retaliated by asking what they’d both been up to. While Demyx blushed furiously and kept eating, Ienzo gave an accurate--though heavily edited and censored--summary. The air seemed thick, like someone could cut it. Dilan and Aeleus would not meet Demyx’s eyes, but Even stared him down. 

“I am sure we’re all glad to see you back in good health,” Even said to Ienzo. “I just hope that this new development does not cloud your judgement going forward. To be young and… caught up in such matters, can no doubt impede your critical thinking. However natural it is.”

Demyx could hardly believe what Even was implying.

Ienzo set down the cup of tea he was drinking. “Clearly you have thought on the subject, and I appreciate your concern. But I feel as though I am just as able to take on my research as I ever were. Not that I have asked for your advice. Should you have more to say on the matter, please let us discuss it in private.”

Even turned faintly pink.

“You needn’t worry about me anymore,” Ienzo said, a bit more gently. “I… I’m not the little boy I was.”

Even shook his head. “I will always worry about you,” he said. “After all, I’ve so much time to make up for.”

After a rather pregnant silence, Demyx cleared his throat. “Anyone want seconds?”

* * *

 

They had barely gotten back to the relative privacy of Ienzo’s room before he said, “I must apologize for Even. It was incredibly rude for him to be so suggestive.”

“Why? Everyone knows.” Demyx sat on the neatly made bed and stroked the stitching of the quilt. 

“They used to be… quite protective of me,” he said, with a shake of his head. 

“I think it’s nice they care so much about you.”

“They don’t… dislike you,” he said. He flinched at the double negative. 

“They think I'm not good enough for you. And they're right."

Ienzo sat down next to him. “I don’t think you understand the impact you’ve had on me,” he said quietly. “If it were not for you, I’d still be there, miserable and working myself to death, unable to find any value in myself aside from needing to atone. I… I know the mistakes I made cannot be undone, but I… I’m better. Destroying myself isn’t going to fix what I did. You’ve… brought me back to reality. And if they don’t realize that, then they’re worse off. I wish they could see what I see in you. Your kindness, your patience, your emotional intelligence.”

Demyx shook his head. 

“Healing is a slow, tedious, constant process. You can’t allow yourself to get caught up in moments like these. They don’t matter.” He touched Demyx’s face. “You do.  _ We _ do.”

Demyx blushed. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” he said. 

“I… still have a few things to learn.” He kissed him gently. 

Demyx wanted to tell him. The words caught under his tongue. Something that should be easy, three little words, daunted him. 

And it turned out he didn’t have to speak, at all.

They kissed for a long time, innocently at first, but then with a depth and heat. Ienzo tucked his legs around him, bleeding trust and want. He wanted it too, to feel that sense of connection again, to make Ienzo feel as good again. It wasn’t for nothing. He could feel Ienzo’s lips against his throat, the soft spot near his jugular, and almost fainted.

"I admit," Ienzo whispered. "All of this is... very new to me still. But I think I'm starting to understand." He tugged at the hem of Demyx's shirt, easing it over his head. He ran his hands along the rivers of scars.  It was a relief, in a way, to let Ienzo take control and just dissolve into feeling. A tingling, heady rush of emotion pushed away the remainder of the icky thoughts. It ached in a bittersweet kind of way, and he got hard.

Ienzo kept exploring him, his touch light and experimental. He tugged off Demyx's jeans and underwear. His breathing hitched a little at the sudden air on his skin, and he reached up to help Ienzo undress as well. He shuddered, feeling the weight of so much tension, and and began to brace himself for the same frustration as before. He knew it wasn't Ienzo's fault, but that didn't necessarily make it easy. Ienzo broke off the kiss, his skin flushed pink. "I want to..." One of his hands, against the sheets, tightened into a fist. "I want to do this for you. I--"

"If you're not ready--"

"I  _am_ ready. And I want to. I just..." The blush deepened from pink to red. "I'm not, technically speaking, sure how?"

Demyx couldn't help it; he laughed. He had to admit that seeing the normally sure and eloquent Ienzo turn into a stuttering mess was something of a turn-on. "Do you remember what I did to you?"

He nodded.

"Something like that."

He smiled, twitchy and nervous. "This isn't really something you read about in books."

"I guess it wouldn't be."

A beat of silence. Demyx listened to him breathe. After a moment where he seemed to gather his nerve, Ienzo leaned forward and kissed him. Demyx could feel his hand slip downward, trembling slightly. The anticipation of something actually happening made his pulse race. After too long and not long enough, Ienzo touched him, hesitantly at first, almost like he wasn't sure what it was. He ran his thumb along the underside and a small sound caught in Demyx's throat. He broke away from the kiss.

"Was that alright?"

He nodded, unable to catch his breath. "Just a little bit more towards the--"

Ienzo adjusted slightly. It was a bit clumsy, a little too gentle, but at the same time the sensation was almost overwhelming. Demyx kissed him and reached down to touch him too. He never thought it could be like this. Didn't think it involved so much trust as a human. And yet being this vulnerable with anyone else was completely unappealing. Feeling and sensation twisted inside him until the pleasure was nearly painful. He felt so alive, so cared for, that nothing superficial seemed to matter any more. He heard Ienzo gasp softly as he came and couldn't help but finally let go as well. 

Demyx felt like he hadn’t been able to breathe in weeks, and for a moment he couldn't do anything other than bask in the relief of it. 

“I see,” Ienzo said softly, pressing a kiss into his sweaty brow. “It really is simpler than I thought.”

Demyx lay back, still recovering. “I swear this is not indicative of how long I usually last.”

Ienzo laughed. “So do you feel better?”

“ _ So _ much better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He leaned against him. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

“It wasn’t all for you. Everything feels so different than it normally does. Plus I… I’m not used to the emotional part of it.”

“The sense of connection is… certainly unique. If I’ve learned anything, emotions are always capable of becoming more overwhelming. No matter their strength.” 

Demyx hummed in response. For few minutes, or however long they remained knotted up together, he felt perfectly at peace. If there was anything to worry about, there was a  _ later _ in which to do it. 

The peace didn’t last long. Something started ringing. It sounded like an alarm clock. Ienzo jolted up.

“What the hell is that?” Demyx asked.

“My gummiphone. Though I have no idea who would be calling.” He got up and pulled on a robe, then reached into his lab coat pocket for the phone. “I’m sorry. I have to see who it is. Hello?” He held the phone to his ear. Demyx couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation. “No, I’m not. What is it?” Pause. “Slow down. The signal is not very good.” Pause. “Are you certain?” Pause. “Well I do suppose it’s possible but I’ve had no insight this past week as to what he’s been up to, I fell ill and was resting--” Pause. “No, I’m alright now. And yourself? You sound distressed.” Pause. He sighed deeply, twisting the cord of his robe with one hand. “I understand. I’m afraid if that’s the situation then… I’ll try my best, but you must realize the prognosis is not good.” Pause. “Yes, I’ll let you know. Try and take care.”

Ienzo’s back was to him, his arms tightly crossed, clutching the phone like a lifeline. He set it down on the desk delicately, then perched on the bed. He breathed like it hurt. 

“What happened?” Demyx asked. “Who was that?”

“It was Roxas.” There was a flatness to Ienzo’s voice that completely eclipsed the last hour or so they’d spent together. “They think Riku’s got a lock on Sora’s location.”

“But isn’t that… good? Then why are you both upset?”

Ienzo was wringing his hands. “Because he’s not in this reality. We’ve no way to get him back. Wherever he is… he’s there, alone. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ienzo's desperation to help Sora takes a dark turn.

XII.

“It’s more or less hopeless,” Ienzo said. “Gummi ships can travel between worlds. Dark corridors can travel between types of matter. We’ve even learned so much about time travel. But no amount of science or bonds between hearts can shatter the border of reality. To even attempt to do so would threaten to pervert all of this World again for one life. I cannot do that. I  _ won’t _ do that.” His nostrils flared. “But it feels like I’m killing him, Demyx.” He looked at his trembling hands. “It feels like it’s my fault.”

“I’m sure if Sora knew he’d tell you it isn’t. Isn’t that his whole thing? Saving the world? He’d understand.”

Ienzo pressed a hand to his mouth, silent tears staining his face. Demyx brought him into his arms and held him for a long time. But the shaking didn’t stop.

He must’ve fallen asleep.

Demyx had tried to stay awake, even if he couldn’t think of anything good to say to comfort Ienzo. But he’d been too tired. The next thing he was aware of was Ienzo pulling away from him.

“What?” Demyx asked sleepily. “Where you going?”

“...The washroom. Go back to sleep.” He kissed him gently. 

But when he woke up early the next morning the bed was still empty, and Ienzo’s lab coat was missing. Demyx sighed, his heart sinking. He knew exactly where Ienzo was. He couldn’t help but be a little angry. He got dressed, washed his hands, and headed down to the lab.

Ienzo sat by the computer in the early morning light, shuffling papers, his brows scrunched in concentration. 

“...So you had to go to the bathroom,” Demyx said tiredly.

Ienzo jumped, but then he sighed resignedly. “You wouldn’t have let me go.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t’ve.”

“I’ve… nothing to say in my own defense.”

“What happened to “I cannot, I won’t”?”

“I was hoping there was some way compatible with this world--” He trailed off. 

“And that sort of thinking becomes “well there isn’t,  _ but. _ ””

“What would you know about such things?” Ienzo asked sourly. 

Heat burned in his cheeks. “Um, because I’m not an idiot? Because I’ve heard all those stories about the apprentices and their ambition?”

“ _ My _ ambition.  _ I’m _ an apprentice.”

“Yeah, and I’ve also seen you completely lose your mind with guilt because of well-intentioned research gone wrong!”

“Would you feel this passionately if it were not Sora?” Ienzo asked softly. “If it were say, someone else entirely that needed saving?”

A cold jolt swept through him. “ _ Excuse me?” _

“You’ve never hesitated to make your ambivalence for him known.”

“Uh, yeah, because he  _ murdered  _ me. Something I still have nightmares about, by the way.” He shook his head. “I don’t want this to destroy you again. Ienzo, please. If not for you, then… for me.”

Ienzo looked away, his face pink.

He clenched his fist. “Alright. Fine. I see how it is.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I guess I don’t. What _ ever _ , Ienzo.” The anger gave him enough strength to leave the lab, but already it was giving way to something far worse and more painful. The hurt throttled him again and again.

He should’ve known, really. From the start. He would never be enough. No amount of tenderness or love could stop Ienzo from destroying himself, from destroying  _ them. _ Why had Demyx assumed it would be? Why had he let himself be so vulnerable? Had he been lied to?

He had to get out of here.

Outside the air was brittle, and it smelled like snow. He shivered but kept moving, all the way through town, until he was staring down the border between Radiant Garden and complete blue wilderness. He sank down weakly onto the navy and green mosaic. He'd brought himself to the place where he'd been killed. With the wisps of Sora's fate up in the air, how could he feel anything but  _relieved_? Demyx touched the spot below his ribs where Sora had bludgeoned him. He's always held Ienzo's need to help Sora at arm's length. But living to save others was no meaningful way of atonement if it swallowed you in the process. If Ienzo felt he wasn't worth anything, then Demyx must be worth even less; like he'd always been.

He tried to gather his thoughts, but everything was knotted up so tightly in pain that he could barely breathe. For too long he sat, trying to process what happened and trying to find the will to just get up.

A soft, whispering sound brought him back. He glanced behind him, only to see the greedy, blank faces of several pureblood Heartless. Of course. Emotional pain was like a buffet for them, and he was bleeding it. He stood, and they tensed. If he moved slowly enough, he might be able to get away. 

More emerged from the ground, blocking off the way back to town. He could push through them, of course, but they’d no doubt make chase. He was fast, but not fast enough to outrun them. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed through his teeth. 

They moved in a slow, insistent circle. They knew they had an easy target. A quick, tasty meal. Somewhere in this something in him just gave out, and Demyx laughed.

“Figures. Fucking figures!”

The hysteria was too tempting for them, and they descended. He tried to fight at first, but there was only so much he could do. The sticky, inky smell of darkness assaulted him. Their claws scratched him, and he couldn’t see. 

Something snapped and there was a burst of light, enough to shake them off of him. He was holding something in his hand, a weapon, but too shocked to really process what was going on, he let this strange instinct take over and fought them until most of them were gone and the rest ran away. 

The weapon fell to the ground with a metallic  _ clank _ . It did not sound like his sitar did when it fell. Demyx saw the delicate, smooth shape of the Keyblade and shook his head. It vanished like it had never been there. 

Something hot dripped down his side. He looked down. He was bleeding profusely from a puncture wound in his side; one of the bastards must have hit an artery. The wound wasn’t infected with darkness, but it didn’t matter. He was bleeding too much, even as he tried to apply some pressure. He had to try and get help. His vision started to swim and he tried to take a few steps, only to fall to his knees. Trying to crawl only worsened the bleeding and the lightheadedness, and black dots swam at the edge of his vision.

_ Am I actually dying? For real this time? _

A weird, delirious giddiness took over, and he laughed, tasting blood. 

_ Well, at least I tried. _

* * *

 

The light was warm.

Demyx stirred, not wanting to wake up. He wasn’t ready to face being dead, not yet. Just a few more minutes. Pain echoed through his body. Was it supposed to hurt?

“Easy. Easy,” said a voice. “Try not to move, okay?”

He complied. He felt weird, and numb, and when he tried to open his eyes his vision was blurry. He saw the woman’s long brown hair. He knew who this was. What was her name again?

“It’s good you’re trying to wake up, but for the heal to take you need to go back to sleep. Relax. I’ve got you, Demyx.”

A wave of exhaustion passed over him, and he dozed off.

* * *

 

The sun had set, and the moon was out. Someone had placed the illumina plant on the windowsill, and its petals were glowing faintly. This was the first thing he noticed.

His body felt weird, and heavy. His side throbbed faintly. Something smelled like bleach. There was a pressure on his left hand, warm and steady, and he squeezed back.

“Demyx? Demyx, oh thank goodness.”

He tried to turn his head towards the sound of the voice. Moving was hard, and he suspected he’d been drugged. He blinked to clear the rest of the blurriness. Ienzo, pale and wan, his eyes bloodshot. Demyx stuttered his name.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said. “All those awful things I said… I’m so sorry.”

Speaking was difficult. “What…”

“You’re lucky. Yuffie was on patrol in the area and found you. Aerith saved your life. That wound would’ve killed you. It nearly  _ did _ kill you.” He held Demyx’s hand to his face. “I am so… foolish.”

“No.”

He laughed. Demyx could feel his tears on his hand. “Even weak and drugged you’re trying to comfort me. I truly… do not deserve you.” Ienzo kissed his hand. “Get some rest.”

* * *

 

Day. His head was clearer, but the pain in his side was sharper.

“...It’s looking good,” Aerith said. “Circulation completely restored. No more internal bleeding. It’ll probably scar, but there’s not much I can do for that. Sit up for me?”

Demyx did so. The pain made him flinch. 

“It looks like you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to take it very, very easy the next few days. Once the pain subsides, you’ll be good to go.”

Demyx looked down at the angry pink mark just above his hip. “Thank you,” he said. “Without you, I’d be toast.”

She smiled. “It is my job,” she said. “I hope that once you’ll recover you’ll come visit. From what Yuffie said, it sounds like you’ve got a story to tell.”

He blinked in confusion. 

“I think you’re well enough that I can turn your care over to Even. If you have any concerns, give me a call. We’ve got a gummiphone now too.”

“Sure,” he said. He was a little dizzy.

Aerith left. How was he still so tired? He’d been sleeping and sleeping. Was it the painkillers? He had vague memories of getting shots of them, of bandages, of tubes of pinkish replacement fluid. There were no more tubes or bandages, just the thin, needy pain in his side. Everything, including those last few moments after the attack, was so fuzzy. He looked down at his palm. Had he really summoned the--? Maybe it had been a dream? He'd hoped that, despite all evidence, that his past wasn't really his past. 

Ienzo came in and approached him. He looked ashamed, more than anything, his head bowed low. “Aerith said you’ve healed beautifully,” he said in an artificially bright voice. “Now it’s your turn to take some time to recover.” He sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I’ve been so worried. We all have. I’m truly sorry.”

He wanted to say it was okay, but it wasn’t. “You hurt me,” Demyx said. "You made me feel like all of this meant nothing to you."

“...I know. I came to my senses not minutes after you left. But by then… you’d already been injured.” He sighed. “More than anything this situation made me realize that I must acknowledge when things are out of my hands. Pushing myself to fix the impossible is not only dangerous for me, but for those I love. I assure you, Demyx, I did not mean to make you feel that way. I really know so little when it comes to dealing with these complex, mature emotions.”

Demyx only processed maybe half of what Ienzo said. He took a sharp breath that hurt his side. “...You love me?”

Ienzo blinked, his face pink. “Of course I do. I… I thought you were aware of that.”

Demyx shook his head. “I love you too.” He felt a flare of pain inside of his chest, white hot and almost unbearable. He crumpled a little, holding a hand to his heart as though it might physically restrain the pain. Dizziness washed over his vision.

Ienzo grasped his shoulders. "Demyx?" he asked. "What is it?"

The pain peaked suddenly, and he swayed into Ienzo's arms. It subsided equally as quickly, leaving him feeling warm and a bit sweaty. It felt like a film had been peeled from his vision, leaving everything clearer than before. The deep, consuming emptiness that had lingered all this time was gone, leaving a steady stability in its place. A sense of wholeness. Demyx touched his chest. "I think... I think I'm whole?"

Ienzo’s eyebrows shot up, and then he put a hand to his face. “How silly of me not to realize. To see and be seen, or love and be loved… You must have needed to hear it out loud for your heart to be fully complete.”

Demyx hugged him. 

Ienzo laughed. “Welcome to the human race.”

* * *

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter arrives, bringing with it a slew of emotions and new intimacy. Demyx realizes something about the old score.

XIII.

The recovery was tedious, but he was feeling better day by day. A week after he’d been nearly struck down, he was feeling less tired and there was no more pain. He and Ienzo took long walks as he got progressively stronger, and talked about things that didn't really matter, avoiding serious subjects like the plague. Demyx would often catch Ienzo staring at him; not quite with longing, but like he were delicate, fragile, on the verge of disappearing. It wasn't exactly a good feeling.

In Radiant Garden, it started to snow. They watched it fall from the library window. 

“It feels as though it's been years since I've seen snow,” Ienzo said. 

“It’s pretty,” Demyx said. 

“...Pretty,” Ienzo echoed. 

“Do you want to go outside?”

“I think I rather would.”

Bundled in layers, they stood outside the castle gates. Already the snow was falling thickly, blanketing everything in a silent wall of white. There was enough on the ground that it gave Demyx an idea. 

Ienzo looked absolutely betrayed when the first snowball hit him. Demyx froze, suddenly regretting everything. Ienzo wiped the snow off his face. “You do realize this means war, right?”

They pelted each other with snowballs until it seemed like there was nothing left untouched. Demyx wondered if Ienzo had ever been allowed to play like this. There was a small smile visible below his bangs, which made the icy wetness worth it.  “For a scrawny scientist, you have a good arm,” Demyx muttered, spitting out snow for the dozenth time. In the frenzy, neither of them noticed Aeleus silently shoveling and spreading salt up the steps. Demyx’s shot went wide and hit him squarely in the back of the neck. 

“Run!” Ienzo screamed. Aeleus’s large hands were perfect for hitting them both with snowballs at the same time. 

“If we team up we can take him,” Demyx insisted.

“Believe me, we can’t,” Ienzo said. “He is absolutely ruthless.”

He was. Aeleus moved faster than Demyx had ever seen him move, a smirk on his otherwise impassive face. He was having fun tormenting them. 

“We surrender!” Demyx cried, throwing up his hands. Aeleus nodded, and then went back to spreading salt like nothing had happened. “Ugh, I’m soaked.”

“I’m freezing,” Ienzo said. “Let’s call it a draw.”

* * *

Changed and dry, they sat by the fireplace in the sitting room with tea, trying to get the warmth back in their bones. Sitting here with Ienzo under his arm felt something like perfect happiness. So naturally, being an anxious bisexual disaster, Demyx started to think about why he hadn’t yet told Ienzo about his past. Especially since he’d actually summoned the Keyblade and fought with it like it was a perfectly natural extension of his own body. Like he hadn’t even had to think about it. The longer he was human, the more his past threatened to breach the surface, even as the memories remained foreign to him. 

“Are you still cold?” Ienzo asked. “You’re tense.”

“I have to tell you something,” he said. “But I’m not… I’m not ready. I keep trying and trying.”

“Is it something about your past?” Ienzo asked.

Demyx nodded. 

“Is it something bad you’ve done?”

He hesitated, and shook his head.

“Take your time,” Ienzo said. “Whatever it is can wait until you’re ready.”

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

“...Thank you.”

Ienzo kissed him softly. This was the closest thing to romance Demyx had experienced. For the first time he considered the hazy concept of  _future_. For so long he'd gone through the days just trying to survive, in the vain hope of one day being human again. He realized he still didn't really know what it all meant. Or even if it were worth it. There was such intense pain and anxiety. And yet.

Ienzo broke off the kiss and cupped his cheek, again with that same fragile, defensive gaze. "I  _do_ love you," he said, with just a slight stammer. "I realize... I didn't quite say it."

He felt his heart skip a little. "You said it enough."

"I know that. I wanted to... to say it again." He turned pink. "Perhaps if I'm articulate about my feelings I can understand them."

"Is it helping?" Demyx asked. 

In Ienzo's blue-green eyes he could see something like fear, and yet also such warmth. "Not quite. Not even close."

Demyx kissed him back. It was a sensation close to melting, or maybe falling. Slow. Nearly hesitant. But all the same. Ienzo laced his hands through his hair and pulled him close. Demyx didn't want to pull away. He wanted to stay here, like this, forever. This was safe. This was easy. He was slightly breathless. Almost teary. "I love--"

Ienzo didn't quite let him get the words out and instead deepened the embrace, turning slightly to tuck one of his legs around Demyx's waist. The more comfortable Ienzo became with any sort of touch or intimacy, the more overwhelming it became. This longing and anticipation would only ever get stronger.

Well, Demyx thought, it could be worse.

Ienzo pulled away quite suddenly, dropping his eyes. "I..." Demyx heard him struggling to catch his breath. 

"What?"

"I want..." He swallowed, a self-conscious glint in his eye. He tried again. "I feel like I..."

Demyx could feel his own face burning. "...Do you want to go back to your room?" he offered.

"Yes."

There was something inherently awkward in being human, Demyx decided. There was no one around to see them--each caught up in their own business--but yet he felt watched anyway, and acutely aware of his own body, even when the door shut behind them. Maybe it was the fact that he was now fully complete, but there was a newness to this that hadn't quite been there before. Ienzo took his hand and led him over to the bed, but didn't lay down. 

"Are you okay?" Demyx asked.

"I feel... shy," he whispered. "Isn't that strange?"

"I do too." 

For a moment he rested against him. Demyx swore he could feel Ienzo's heart racing, or else it was his own erratic pulse. Demyx kissed him. He didn't shake--not outwardly--as he touched Ienzo, his hand slipping down the curve of his back, down to his thighs. Ienzo tugged Demyx's shirt off. The slight wisp of fingertips against his scars made him gasp out loud. He pulled off Ienzo's sweater and reached to unbutton his pants too, only to fall forward when Ienzo tried to bring him down onto the bed. He snorted a little despite himself.

"You're not exactly graceful," Demyx said to him.

Ienzo laughed a little. "You compromise me."

"It's my natural charm." When he tried to kiss him, Ienzo pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. That is to say..." He bit his lip. "Do you... recall, the first time we were at all intimate, and I asked you... I asked you if it was painful." His voice dropped, the sentence borderline unintelligible.

A hot flush crept in his cheeks. "Yeah." 

"How so?"

His hands, propping him up, clenched just the slightest. "It's not... terrible. Not great, though." He found he couldn't look Ienzo in the eye and spoke instead to his chin. "But it gets... better."

"Would you want to..." He was shaking. Demyx could feel it where his hands rested at the small of his back. "Would you want to try that?"

He exhaled. His heart beat almost painfully. "Yeah. Are you sure you're ready? It's a big step."

"You make me feel safe," he said simply. "I want to... experience everything."

Demyx kissed him. The longing was almost unbearable, but so were the nerves. It didn't have to be perfect, of course, but he wanted him to enjoy this. He felt Ienzo slipping off his jeans and tugging off his own. "Wait," Demyx said suddenly. 

His eyes glinted with something like frustration. 

"We kind of need lube. I mean. I'm not, like,  _huge_ , or anything, but you can't just..." His face was burning, mostly from embarrassment.

"I know," Ienzo said. "I've... been prepared." With a vicious blush, he reached into the otherwise empty bedside drawer for a small bottle. 

So he'd been thinking about this for some time. The thought of it alone was almost too much. 

"Are  _you_ ready?" he leveled.

"Yes. But I... I... you drive me crazy." A wry laugh. 

"Be glad it isn't literal," he said, and kissed him.

It wasn't quick. It took time. 

Between how nervous he was, and how turned on he was, it was hard to think. He touched Ienzo's dick. At least this much was familiar. He tried to find the strength to reach over for the lube. Anticipation twisted a knot in his stomach. "Can you shift forward a little?" he asked Ienzo. "Your hips, so I can--"

He complied. In the bright, silvery light, Demyx could see everything. He shivered. 

"You're so beautiful."

To his surprise, Ienzo laughed a little. "You flatter me."

He took the bottle into his hands. The lube was cold, and he let it warm against his fingers. It was surgical grade, and he decided very quickly not to think about where it came from and why. "This first," he said. "Try to relax." The skin down there was tight, deliciously so. As gently as he could, he pushed in a finger. Ienzo flinched a little. "Does that hurt?" Demyx ask.

"Not quite... pain," he said, a touch strained. "It's unexpected."

He gave him a moment and slid in another finger. Ienzo gripped his arm. 

"That does hurt a little."

"Okay. Okay. Too dry, or--?"

"I think I need to adjust." He breathed. Kept his eyes closed. Demyx kissed him. Remaining like this was awkward but necessary. "It's okay now."

"You sure?"

"It's the pressure, I think. I never quite thought..." Ienzo didn't complete his sentence, but he turned red. "Dreams and thoughts tend to be... more instantly pleasurable."

"I thought you'd never--"

"That doesn't mean I don't think about it."

He laughed a little. "Do you think I could... try to..." 

Ienzo reached up to touch him. "Slowly."

He used more of the lube, on himself this time. His hand trembled a little. Nerves and a hot rush of anticipation nearly paralyzed him. Ienzo shifted forward a little more. This really did take so much trust, so much vulnerability. Another shiver passed through him when he tried to push inside. The pleasure was so intense that he nearly forgot to take his time. He went inside of him bit-by-bit, though if it hurt Ienzo didn't say.

"Are you alright?" Ienzo asked.

"Yeah, I just..." He was practically dizzy. "It feels really good."

He kissed him. Demyx could feel Ienzo's dick up against his stomach. His hips bucked up somewhat instinctively. Ienzo flinched and something like a gasp left his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I--"

Ienzo shook his head quickly. "It didn't hurt."

For a half-second Demyx wondered if he were lying.

He opened his eyes. "I assure you. I felt--" A ragged breath. 

" _Oh._ Well. That's good."

It took a few moments of fumbling before he found a rhythm that seemed to be good for both of them. The knot inside of him kept tightening, and the small noises Ienzo made threatened to put him over the edge. It didn't really matter that his elbows were hurting or that Ienzo's grip on his arm was borderline painful. Everything else made the discomfort worth it. He didn't think things  _could_ feel so good. So rich. Like it was worth having a body, and being human, and being here and so so vulnerable and in love and--

Ienzo pulled him still closer. Demyx could feel his own willpower and restraint rapidly crumbling. "I'm sorry. I'm close," he said against Ienzo's jaw. 

He didn't seem to hear. He moaned softly, the sound half muffled against Demyx's shoulder, and he could feel sticky warmth against his belly. As soon as he knew he didn't need to hold back anymore he was caught up in it, hot then cool and then dizzy, like a high but still more ephemeral. 

He lay down on his stomach next to Ienzo, struggling to breathe. He could feel tears in his eyes. He took Ienzo's hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“You’re crying,” Ienzo said.

“It’s a good cry.”

“I… I never thought I could contain so much feeling,” he said shakily. “At first… admittedly… I could not understand why it is people do this, and then… well…”

“I hit the spot?”

“So to speak.”

He smiled. “It’ll get easier,” Demyx said.

“Yes. I… look forward to the practice. But for now… I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed. Can we just rest for a while?”

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

* * *

He slept like the dead that night. It wasn't until he went to take a bath that he realized how sore he was; his arms and thighs hurt from the awkward position, and there were bruises on his upper arm where Ienzo had held him. It was a pleasant kind of pain. In a way he did feel different, though he couldn't really put it to words. His heart felt full.

Ienzo was waiting for him in the kitchen, skimming through the gummiphone. 

"Well, I slept like a rock," Demyx said to him. "Coffee?"

"...Please."

He put it up. Being normal again was... weird. They hadn't talked that much after having sex, overwhelmed and emotional and so, so tired. They'd barely even spoken that morning, only enough to decide who got the bathroom first. Something wasn't  _wrong_ exactly. More like they were finding new bearings. 

They had some breakfast in the same silence. He had to say something. Needed to make sure everything was still good. "...You feel okay?" he asked Ienzo.

"I'm a little sore," he said in a low voice. "It is bearable, though."

"Me too. Your death grip on my arm didn't help."

"I... did not mean to hurt you," he said. "I was not exactly fully aware of my surroundings."

Demyx smiled. "It's fine. I'm just teasing." 

"Are you alright?"

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good, actually.” He laid his hand on top of Ienzo’s. “I didn’t think things would feel so different.”

“I agree,” he said quietly. “I think the whole ordeal was new to both of us.”

“Very,” Demyx said. 

“It  _ was _ a big step. Insofar as these things go. It never made sense to me before, how invested people became in one another, how vulnerable it made them. Yet I feel as though I’m finally coming together. I’ve found a wholeness as well.”

Demyx picked up his hand and kissed it. “Do you want to work together today?” he asked.

Ienzo pretended to check Demyx’s temperature. “Are you sure you’re feeling quite alright? If I heard you correctly,  _ you _ want to  _ work. _ ”

He snorted. 

“You know, I kind of do,” he said. “Things got really intense, really fast. I need a breather after these few days.”

He nodded, again all business. "Let's take our time. I should like to work with you again."

Demyx started coping the score onto clean paper. 

After all, this would all be a waste if the originals got destroyed or lost, which, considering how carelessly Ienzo left around half-full cups of tea, was pretty possible. 

Partially, it was a relief after such intense physical intimacy to go back to something more focused. 

Ienzo watched him write over his shoulder. “You actually have rather nice handwriting. I’ve seen your old mission reports. What, were you trying to make it more difficult for Saïx?”

“I wrote them with my left hand,” Demyx admitted. “The guy was a jerk! Why make things easy for him?”

Ienzo shook his head. “I admit he was… a character.”

“But you were always so good, so he never bothered you.”

“...Precisely.”

Demyx shook out his hand. His wrist was aching. “I’m surprised as researchers you guys don’t have a copier.”

“Well--we  _ did _ ,” Ienzo said. There was a sheepish expression on his face. “It was down in Even’s lab because he fought tooth and nail to have it by his side. But one of his experiments went awry, who-knows-what got all over the damn thing, and it’s back to hand-copying or printing everything.”

“At least it’s easier to read this way. I’m betting the guy was running out of paper. Everything’s so cramped together.”

Ienzo studied the notes. “You divided out the sections. Did you look at my translations while I was speaking to Ansem?”

“The what now?”

He touched the margins. Demyx had, without even thinking, designated which lines corresponded to certain instruments. 

“I must have been thinking of something else.” A slick, creeping feeling jangled at his brainstem. He shook his head and started riffling between the old and new papers. “Remember that “F or S” thing you wondered about?” Demyx asked.

“...Your tone is concerning,” Ienzo said. “Whatever’s happened?”

“It could’ve been an F. F for flute. But it wasn’t. It’s S for--”

Of course. He took a deep breath. How could he have been so stupid? Who else would have made such impractically complicated compositions? A harsh piercing pain stabbed him behind the eye.

“Sitar? That’s an unusual coincidence.”

Demyx barked out an odd laugh, the pain increasing all the while. “It’s not a coincidence, Ienzo.” 

The score wasn’t some rando’s. It was his.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx's memory returns, leaving him badly shaken. Ienzo's attempt at easing the pain has disastrous results.

XIV.

“...I’m afraid I don’t understand whatever it is you’re implying,” Ienzo said. 

“The score is mine,” Demyx said. The realization cut his voice in two.

“No, it can’t be. That means that somehow you’d have to be hundreds of years old. Surely you would have recognized it before now. No. I’m sure whatever connection you feel to this musician is just that.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“I wasn’t fully  _ human _ before.” The pain in his head was worsening. Demyx could barely look at the score without feeling halfway shocked. The runes seemed to shift, become blurry, and like that, become legible to him. He was hyperventilating. He’d known for a while that he was from that time; but it hadn’t felt real. 

The memories poured in like a flood, sending white-hot agony through him. He clapped his hands over his ears, as though that would stop the onslaught of color and sound, the battles and enemies and friends (so many friends just  _ lost _ like that) and Heartless and Darklings and Unions and Foretellers and yes music, music despite everything, music bleeding out of everything, he’d never wanted to be a Keyblade wielder but master had insisted--

He must have screamed. His throat felt hoarse. He was barely aware of Ienzo on the phone, his face drawn, hands trembling with panic. Demyx couldn’t do anything but let the memories batter him, one after another, until he was only dimly aware of the world outside. The pain of it wrung him dry. 

A pinprick in his left arm, then a sleepiness. The memories didn’t stop but they came more slowly, like molasses, and the pain remained.

Through this sedated haze he thought he heard voices.

“...So it’s true then.”

“...Yes. It’s true. I’ve studied his DNA myself. You positively would not believe it, Ienzo--”

“And you didn’t think it prudent to ever mention this to me?”

“Would it have changed your mind?”

“...No.”

“Precisely. I assure you he hasn’t  _ experienced _ that passage of time.”

“...He said he’d remembered something from his past. I did not think it was  _ this _ . So that means he’s really a--”

“Yes. I worked so hard to make replicas who could wield Keyblades, and we had four wielders right under our noses.”

“But will he be all right?”

“Hard to say. All of those memories, some doubtless very gruesome and traumatic, his heart  _ just _ healing… we must be patient.”

Demyx wondered if this was what it felt like to drown.

For a long while he felt himself being pulled every which way by memories brighter and more intense than anything he had ever experienced. Dark, chaotic, discordant melodies twined around him, threatening to tear him apart. Pain seared through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel his body. Couldn’t so much as twitch a finger or scream for help. Anything to make it stop, but the waves dragged him deeper and deeper and he couldn’t swim with the music weighing him down--

Death and destruction--hell and Heartless--people falling and falling and falling until it seemed like there were more Darklings than people. It seemed like every friend he made disappeared; vanished, killed, or straight up abandoned. He never wanted this. Never wanted the Keyblade. Didn’t believe in their cultish prophecies until they willed them into truth. They called him a coward for not embracing his heritage. Then a woman in a pink robe offered him a second chance, a chance to escape to a better world. She called him his name. They all did. Each and every time it felt like getting stabbed. These did not feel like his memories, such as they were. They were so vivid and yet so disembodied at the same time. 

If he so chose, he could let go, could slip under this riptide of memory. Even was right; his heart  _ couldn’t  _ take all the strain. Nearly twenty years of trauma battered him, etching him like acid. On some small level he knew he should want to fight it. For this new life. For Ienzo. But how could he ever bear up against it all? He’d never been strong. He’d just been lucky. It would be easy, like going to sleep. And he was so tired.

Slender arms grabbed him in the water of memory, and heaved.

A beach. Moonlight. Coarse sand and seawater in his mouth. He coughed and spat. His skin felt raw from all the salt.

In it all, a voice that should not be there. “Are you alright?”

He looked up. Ienzo crouched next to him in the sand. He too was soaked, dripping, breathing hard. None of this should feel real, and yet it did. “Ienzo?”

He nodded. “Yes, Demyx, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here? How--” A harsh cough choked him off. Ienzo patted him on the back. 

His eyes were bright and urgent. “My power brought me here.”

None of this was making sense. Zexion had power over illusions, but that didn’t mean he could actively  _ get _ within memory. “Your power? I thought you didn’t have any--”

Ienzo held something out to him. A book. It was the lexicon, and yet not it at the same time; it was slimmer, a different color. “I’ve found it. My power as Zexion let me bring people  _ into _ their memory. It only seems natural that as Ienzo I can bring people  _ out _ of it.”

“It’s different,” Demyx said. “Still, you’re in my head--this is weird.”

“I’m sorry. I… I was trying to help.” He looked out towards the sea. “You could’ve drowned. You  _ were _ drowning. I could feel your heart there, so tenuous--” 

“Memory,” was all he said. 

“I know who you are,” Ienzo said. “Even told me. But I saw, too.”

His breath hitched. “I tried to tell you--”

Ienzo touched his face. He felt something like a shock. Somehow or another, this was Ienzo’s very real consciousness, and this was all some kind of very weird mixture of illusion and memory. “I know. You couldn’t’ve. I’m not mad at you.”

Even though he was out of the water, he could feel the pain rising again. “So much pain they tried to hide from us,” he said brokenly. “They did a shitty job. I can see  _ everything _ that happened _. _ ”

“Xehanort?”

He swallowed thickly. “The Foretellers.” His lip twitched. Ienzo drew him into his arms and Demyx started to cry. 

Ienzo jerked away like he’d been shocked. 

“Ienzo? What’s--” 

His nose was bleeding. He touched it with a shaking hand. A steely resolve masked the fear in his eye. “Come back with me. Quickly. We both have to wake up.”

“You’re bleeding--” What did that mean in this context? Nothing good, for sure.

“My power, it’s…” He trailed off. He grimaced, holding his head tightly. 

“You’re burning out.”

“Worse. I’m…” A whimper broke through his gritted teeth. “This is power I’m not supposed to have.”

Thick anxiety pushed against the pain. “Shit, shit, shit. Okay. Um.”  He pinched himself hard. “Fuck, why did I think that would work? What do you normally do?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Demyx blinked. “This is probably really stupid but I can’t think of anything else--” He cut himself off and kissed Ienzo square on the mouth, blood and all.

And woke up.

His bedroom seemed piercingly bright, and his ears were ringing. Adrenaline made him shake. A warm, clammy hand held his, but it was limp. 

Ienzo sagged towards the bed. His nose was bloody here as well; much more bloody, actually. He was breathing in a heavy, labored way and groaning a little.

Demyx sat up, dizzy and alarmed. He grasped Ienzo’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said roughly. “Hey, Ienzo.” Demyx checked his pulse. It was weak, erratic. He all but fell out of bed and lay Ienzo down. “Wake up. You have to--”

He needed help. His throat had sealed shut. He patted Ienzo’s pocket, dug out the gummiphone, dialed Even. Closer was always better. “I need  _ help _ .” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Even, I need--”

“Demyx?” Even was more confused than anything. “How long have you been conscious?”

“I think Ienzo’s dying and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I’m coming. Stay on the line. Put it on speakerphone, do you know how to do that?” Quick, matter-of-fact.

Demyx looked at the bright screen.

“It’s a phone icon with sound waves.”

He pressed the button and set the phone aside.

“What happened?” Even asked. Demyx could hear items being rattled, cupboards opening and closing. 

“He found me. In my memory. I don’t know how, but he--he said he wasn’t supposed to have that power.” He heard the sob in his voice more than felt it. 

Even swore. “No. He isn’t. There’s a  _ reason _ humans don’t control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?” He sounded slightly out of breath.

“He’s having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he’s in a lot of pain--” Another sob cut through Demyx. “I’m sorry, Even.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“Why is this happening?”

“Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart--otherwise, it’s too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and  _ melt. _  The will to live starts to wear down.”

“Ienzo…” 

“I’ve messaged Aerith. I don’t think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then.”

His pulse was getting stranger and more erratic still. Weaker. The strained breaths stopped. Demyx touched Ienzo’s face. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“Demyx?”

“He’s not breathing.”

“I need you to start doing compressions. Hard. We can fix broken ribs.”

Tears clouded his vision. The cool wetness of Ienzo’s blood made him shudder, but he did as he was told, forcing Ienzo to breathe. Forcing his heart to beat. “Why would you do this? Why didn’t you let me drown?”

Even burst through the door. His eyes were bloodshot. He took a syringe of something and jabbed Ienzo in the arm. Demyx’s arms ached, but he couldn’t stop moving. Or crying, for that matter. 

Time moved weirdly. It could’ve been a half an hour or five minutes before Aerith was barrelling through the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder. 

“You should go,” Even said.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You are in far too much distress to be a comfort to him.”

“But what if he--”

Even seized his upper arm and pushed him out of the way. Aerith slid into Demyx’s place, whispering spells. He sat out in the hallway. His head and heart were pounding and he shook all over.

Demyx felt frozen in place. He couldn’t feel or think or move. The next thing he was aware of, Aeleus came by and gently heaved him up by the elbows. Demyx didn’t know how he knew. Aeleus guided him to the kitchen, sat him down, and wiped the blood off of his hands with a damp cloth. He made him tea and waited for him to drink it. Demyx couldn’t taste anything and could only feel the warmth. He was then shepherded into the sitting room, sat on the couch, and an unfamiliar wool blanket was draped over his shoulders. Aeleus sat on a chair opposite of him and began piecing together a puzzle.

Dilan ran into the room. “What on  _ earth _ is going on?” he asked breathlessly. “All of a sudden that woman is barging in here like she owns the place--”

Aeleus held a finger to his lips. 

Dilan looked towards Demyx. “You’re awake,” he said. 

Demyx tried to curve his lips around the words, but couldn’t.

Dilan approached him slowly. “The boy is in shock. Shouldn’t we get help? Ienzo would probably know the most about such psychological--”

Aeleus fit in a piece with a soft click. He shook his head. Dilan turned very pale, then red, and then he went back down the hallway to investigate it for himself. When he came back, he said, “Demyx’s return had a price. But why? Why would he--”

Demyx’s breath, through his teeth, sounded like a hiss. 

“He loves you,” Dilan said with a sigh. “Of course.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know I’m not good enough for him.”

Aeleus set the puzzle piece down. He touched Demyx’s shoulder and shook his head. “That is not true.”

Dilan seemed to be struggling. After a pronounced moment, he said, “We really don’t know one another, do we?” He sat down next to Demyx on the couch. “However were we to know about your past?”

“I didn’t know either,” Demyx mumbled. “I guess Even spilled the beans.”

“You really  _ do _ have a Keyblade?” Dilan asked.

“Yeah. I do.” His voice was hollow. A snarl of memories, like a scare chord, stabbed him behind the eye.

“I can only imagine what that time was like.”

“Well, it was no fucking walk in the park, I’ll say that much.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aeleus fit in a few more pieces. 

“It’s why he kept you,” Dilan said softly. “And why he wanted you back.”

Demyx nodded. “If it weren’t for the Keyblade, I would’ve been dead a long time ago. So that’s why they made me join.”

“Surely you could’ve chosen--”

“Chosen what?” Demyx cocked his head. “I was a kid, a kid who couldn’t remember shit, and then a nice man offered me a chance to understand. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to know it was all a lie?”

Dilan blinked. 

“Look. I get you don’t like me, or whatever, and that’s fine. But I don’t need anyone moralizing at me anymore. I  _ get _ it. I  _ know _ I fucked up. Okay?”

“I never did say I was better than you,” Dilan said with a scowl. “Do you think I do not comprehend what it means to prey on the vulnerable? To be manipulated? For Xehanort, we were both. And then becoming Nobodies drew out our worst selves. Like poison. So no, I do not know who you are. Nor do you know me. Don’t you think it would be worth something, to try and fix that?”

Demyx stroked the hem of the blanket. Slowly, he nodded. 

“I don’t even know your name,” Dilan said. 

“I’m not going to change it,” Demyx said. “Even though I know it now. A lot of really crazy shit happened then. I’m not that person anymore. I mean. I guess I am. I am but I’m not. I literally woke up like an hour ago. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Such is the only constant of this existence,” Aeleus said softly. “There is always a struggle within. Ours just happen to be… exacerbated. Yours especially.”

“Indeed, how does one even begin to face that struggle,” Dilan said. “It is intense when one is young, but you are also pliable. The rest of us… not so much. It’s harder to learn to live at thirty-five than at twenty.”

“Do you want to be better?” Demyx asked.

Dilan hesitated. “I suppose I do.”

“You have to think about it constantly,” he said. “And then it becomes habit. At least that’s what Ienzo--” He pressed a hand over his mouth. 

“How is he?” Aeleus asked.

Dilan looked away. “They would not tell me. But I--I assume if the news was truly terrible, I would have heard that much.”

Under his blanket, Demyx trembled, though it had little to do with the cold. “This is my fault,” he said. “If it wasn’t for me he’d be fine.”

“You are not at fault,” Aeleus said.

“He overextended his power for me,” Demyx reasserted. “To save me, and I--”

“Take a breath,” Aeleus said. 

Demyx tried to obey. His chest was tight. He didn’t think it was possible to be so numb and yet so panicked at the same time. 

“...You truly care for him?” Dilan said.

“Of course I do. More than anything.”

“In that case I owe you an apology.” He sighed. “Perhaps you and I should start over.”

Demyx nodded a little. 

“Would you like to help me?” Aeleus asked. He pushed over the box of loose puzzle pieces. Demyx had just picked up one of the tiny pieces when they all heard footsteps.

Even looked frazzled, his eyes bloodshot. “He’s stable,” he said in a low voice. “Aerith is with him now.”

“What exactly happened?” Dilan asked. “Demyx said something about overextending his power.”

“As far as I can tell--and it’s still early--that’s the case.” He clutched the back of a chair, the veins visible in his hands. “We’re not  _ meant _ to truly have access to our elemental power. It’s an essence of the self, a projection in the absence of a heart--weapons are another mystery. By trying to regain it, however lightly, the entropy of a Nobody’s nonexistence began to eat away at his organs. Particularly his heart.”

“...The organ?” Demyx asked numbly. “Or--”

“We’re not sure how his metaphysical heart has been affected. But I have to learn to relinquish control when something’s out of my hands… and it is. Aerith is healing the physical damage. He’s asleep right now. Ansem is with him too.” He met Demyx’s eyes. “Might I have a word with you?”

Demyx tightened the blanket around his shoulders and followed Even out of the sitting room. He was brought through a door he had only seen closed before; it was an apartment, like Ansem’s, though far smaller. It was neat as a pin, though barren of any real mementos. A spare lab coat hung on a hanger on the heavy mahogany wardrobe. A pale green chaise and pair of chairs were around an empty table. 

Even gestured for him to sit. “Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?” The hospitable tone of his voice was off-putting after so much harshness, and Demyx began bracing himself. 

“I’m not hungry--”

“You’re going to need your strength.” He reached into a cabinet above a hot plate and pulled out a tin of biscuits. He pushed the open tin in front of Demyx like he was trying to feed a feral cat. He stood in front of him and started to take Demyx’s vitals. “Slight fever. Blood pressure low. Eat something. It’ll help. We should probably try to get some more caffeine into your system too.”

“Did you lie to Aeleus and Dilan?” Demyx asked. 

“Not technically.” Even shed his lab coat. The clothing beneath it was plain and a bit shabby, and more than that conservative. Unconsciously, Even tugged the turtleneck he wore a bit higher up on his neck. He sat across from Demyx and crossed his legs. “I need to gather more information about the situation. And considering the extreme… delicacy of the situation, I figured you’d rather have some privacy.”

Demyx shuddered a little and dropped his eyes. He looked at the sad crumbly biscuits in the box. He considered eating one just to avoid talking. “How is Ienzo really?” he asked dully. 

“The picture I have is not clear.” He put a hand to his head. “As I said, use of his power wrought havoc on his internal organs. There’s a good deal of internal bleeding, as well as kidney failure. But the most concerning of these things was his heart. I’m not sure yet for how long or when, but use of his power stopped it from beating. Not… death, exactly, but a type of sleep very near it. Something impossible to maintain without intervention. So, naturally, once he tried to wake back up, he went into shock.” Even paused. “Have your eyes always been so green, or am I just getting old?”

Demyx cocked his head. 

Even shook himself. “Can you tell me what you recall from earlier yesterday afternoon? Do you remember anything?”

Demyx exhaled. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said. He explained that they’d been working, that he’d realized the ancient score was his. “I just… started remembering. Everything about my life then started coming back, wave after wave after wave. There was just so much pain. I felt like I couldn’t escape it. I  _ couldn’t _ . And then… well I don’t know how. But he got into my head, literally, and dragged me out of the memory. And then I woke up.”

“...Fascinating,” Even mumbled. “Zexion always could use the memories of others to create illusions. But to actively be able to alter them…” He clucked his tongue. “If he’s closely bonded to you, it makes sense that he was able to do so. Naminé was only able to alter memories of those in and around Sora. His power must have functioned similarly.” 

“He should have left me there,” Demyx whispered.

“I believe his friendship with Sora has given him something of a hero complex.” He uncrossed his legs. “Nonetheless, you deserve to live too. I have been too harsh with you. I always have.”

“I wasn’t exactly a good person then.” 

“No worse, I’m sure, than I. The complex dynamics of the Organization involved quite a lot of groupthink. It was easy to blame you as the source of our problems. The truth is more nuanced than that.”

“The Organization was all I knew at the time.” He was feeling genuinely cold now. “I still wanted to be free. But I didn’t want it enough to make the effort of fighting worth it. So I made do.”

“As one does.”

“It’s okay.” Demyx sighed. “Dilan and I agreed to start over. Maybe you and me should do the same.”

Even nodded. “Second chances involve quite a lot of forgiveness,” he remarked. “But perhaps we all have more common ground than we think.”

He had a point. All of them had been brutalized and traumatized; Demyx and Even, specifically, were the only ones to have been made vessels  _ twice _ . Demyx still didn’t remember why he’d done it, or if he’d even had a reason. The disorientation of those first few minutes (and it only had been a few minutes) as a human made everything fuzzy.

“I understand you’re still in shock, and naturally are very worried. But will you tell me about your past? I can only imagine what this must all be like for you.”

“Shock is right. I feel numb.” 

“Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“I want to see him.”

“I don’t know if that is necessarily the best for either of you at the moment. Believe me. We will keep an eye on him. Sleep might help you get some clarity.”

It was odd to see Even looking at him for so long without malice. Something inside Demyx was getting ready to give way. “What I’d like to do is take a bath. I’m so cold.”

“Then by all means.” 

He left. Started filling the bathtub. At least the water was hot. He meant to undress quickly, to spare himself the chill, but he accidentally caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was exactly like looking at a stranger. Everything was in the same place and was the same shape, yet the sensation of being himself-and-not was unshakeable. His eyes were more green, his hair more brown. He gathered it in handfuls. How was it that he hadn’t had a haircut the whole time he’d been human, yet all the remaining wisps of blonde were gone as though they’d been dyed? 

_ This is me. This is my body. _

It did not feel that way. His old and new memories crashed up against one another, filling him with remorse and bitterness. 

He whispered the old name. A painful lump in his throat made it hurt to breathe. He slipped off the remaining clothing and submerged himself fully, the world above rendering into bluish ripples. The tension seemed to rise within him until he had no choice but to scream into the water, where the sound was mercifully muffled. Demyx came up for air. 

“It’s okay,” he said to himself. “It’s okay.” Over and over again. Like a mantra.  _ I’m going fucking crazy. _ No, this was just shock. Warm water ran down his face. He could not tell if it were water or tears. 

He stayed in the water until it started to cool and then scrubbed himself down, as if to physically get rid of the bad memory. Demyx crawled into bed and breathed. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx struggles to come to terms with his past. Ienzo sleeps.

XV.

He must’ve slept.

“Demyx?”

He was being shaken. He stirred.

“Sorry to wake you. I wanted you to get some dinner while it’s still hot.” Even still looked washed out. 

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

“You need to eat,” Even insisted. “If it sweetens the pot, Aerith is still here and would like to speak with you.”

That got him up. He felt bizarrely calm. She was eating soup in their kitchen. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she still afforded him a smile. “I’m always hungry after a case like this,” she said.

Demyx sat across from her. Even forced a bowl in front of him, nearly slopping onto the table, and then disappeared. He sipped. “How did it go?” he asked cautiously.

“I might have to come back for some revisions. But he’s healing well.”

“Did Ienzo wake up?”

She shook her head. “As for that… it might be a while.”

The soup in his mouth, at first tasteless, turned bitter and rank. “Like… a few days, or…”

Aerith bit her lip. “Optimistically? A few weeks. Maybe even longer.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“It’s… how do I explain. Physically, he’s healed. But metaphysically, it’s a little more complicated. Exerting such power has a cost. In this case, it’s sleep. He’s exhausted his own will trying to use that power, and now it has to rest. It might still be a little touch and go, in terms of brain activity, but I have a feeling he’ll recover.”

“Have you seen this before?”

She shook her head. “I’ve read about it, though, if that’s any comfort. Master Yen Sid and Merlin talked me through it too.”

He forced down some more food. “This is a lot to take in.” He couldn’t tell if he was relieved. Ienzo  _ would _ survive. At the same time, he definitely wasn't okay. And who knew how he would emerge from the other side?

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“It’s my duty. Ienzo has been so helpful. It’s the least I can do.”  She scraped the edge of her bowl. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I please have more? I nearly completely depleted my magic.”

He got her more food. She was eating so quickly. More fuel for the mage. 

“You’ve gone through a lot too, so I’ve heard.”

“My memories came back.”

“Must be overwhelming.”

“I’m still in shock, to be honest.”

“I can only imagine.”

“I know this is how I’m supposed to be. And it feels right, but wrong at the same time.”

“Oh, the dissonance will fade,” she said matter-of-factly. “Give it a week or two and you’ll be alright.”

“You think?”

She twirled some hair around her finger. “Let’s just say that trauma-induced memory loss is common around here. Unfortunately. Sometimes the repression can be undone with spells, and I’ve done it a lot. You’ll just have to cope with the contents within.”

“Easy peasy,” Demyx mumbled.

Aerith scraped her bowl clean. “I hate to dine and dash, but there’s a committee meeting and I said I’d fill everyone in if I could. I’ll come around tomorrow to check in.” She stood. “Are you okay with hugs? I tend to give them a lot.”

He nodded wearily. She hugged him for a moment. She smelled like magnolia and something else he could not place. It was hard not to find comfort in the touch. “Good luck, Demyx,” she said. And left.

He washed the dishes robotically. The door to Ienzo’s room was ajar. It felt almost wrong to approach. Like he was about to desecrate a tomb. But why?

Ienzo was unconscious. He was just as still as before. It was, in a surreal way, peaceful, if you ignored the tubes and sensors on his hand.

Demyx approached him slowly. Touched his cheek. He’d mentally been steeling himself for it to be cold, dead feeling, but in fact he actually felt a little feverish. He could feel still more tears in his eyes and blinked them back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Or was the better phrase “thank you”? To talk at all was artificial. He wasn’t sure Ienzo could even hear him. Demyx kissed him on the forehead. It shouldn’t be hard to be here. He was fine. Ienzo was going to be fine. He felt sick with guilt. Why had Ienzo done this for him? He could've gotten himself killed. Demyx just was not worth it.

“I figured you might be here.” 

Demyx looked up at Ansem. He dabbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“That’s quite alright. It’s been an emotional day for all of us.” He came closer and placed a hand on Demyx’s shoulder, studying him closely. “Is it not peculiar, how the heart can change our very appearance?”

“I feel like a stranger.”

“I suppose you must.” Ansem sat in the chair at the desk. He pulled, absently, at a loose thread in the cable-knit sweater he wore. 

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Why ever would I be?”

Demyx sat at the foot of the bed. Having spent time in it, the texture of the stitching of the quilts was comforting. “It’s my fault he’s like this. He shouldn’t’ve--”

“I have spent a good deal of time coming to terms with Ienzo’s choices, and learning to respect them. You shouldn’t blame yourself, but rather view this as an act of love.” He pushed himself to a stand. “I’m getting old. I can feel it in my joints. You’ll know someday.”

It was hard enough to be alive; aging boggled him.

“Come. Let’s go for a walk.”

Demyx looked back at Ienzo, still asleep, still immobile. 

“You needn’t worry. Hard-hearted as he is, Even would do anything for that boy.”

Demyx followed Ansem wearily. 

“You and I have not spoken much,” Ansem said. “I think that should change.”

“Everyone’s suddenly tripping over themselves to be nice to me,” Demyx said dryly. “Funny. Didn’t happen before they knew I had a Keyblade.”

“They know what mistakes they’ve made. Learning takes time. You  _ do _ deserve kindness.”

“Do I? I mean-- I never questioned him, Ansem. Never, not once. Not because I believed in it. Because I was lazy and jaded and I didn’t care who got hurt.”

“Xehanort?”

He nodded. 

“How old were you when they recruited you?”

“Seventeen.”

“And, at that point, did you have your memory?”

Demyx shook his head. 

“Xehanort was particularly good at manipulating psychologically unstable individuals. If he caught you at the right time--”

“But Xehanort can’t absolve me of guilt. I can’t blame the guy fully. Isn’t that also reductive, or whatever?” 

Ansem was silent for several minutes. Then he said, “It is an easy way out.”

“I don’t want  _ easy _ . I just want the pain to stop. All of it. Mine. Ienzo’s. Yours. Everyone in this town or world who was poisoned because of him--” Demyx trailed off. 

“Xehanort was… impossibly clever, the way he folded and changed himself to manipulate others. Friend, leader, harried apprentice. For him, it was simple as… playing a game of chess. He knew best where to hit us, and gave nary a care for the cost. Perhaps it is the bitterness in me, but I’ve been taking it in turn to fight the guilt. At least to spite him. I have so much to atone for. I’m not sure I’ll ever have enough time. But I have you to thank, at least partially, for this chance.”

Demyx rubbed at the back of his neck. “What, for the corridor? I was just doing what I was told. I’ll accept the pat on the back, but a lot of what I did to help Vexen was because I was bored.”

Ansem smiled a little. “Is that true?”

He shrugged. “I guess there was some part of me that just said “fuck him.” So I took the replica.”

“Resistance is not always courage and bravado. As a perpetual coward, I’ve learned this the hard way.” 

Demyx nodded. He could feel the conversation bottoming out. They stepped out into a breezeway, and the sudden suffusion of light was startling.

“I am curious, though, about this mysterious score of yours,” Ansem said. 

“How did you know about that?”

“Ienzo told me last night. Shortly before all of this happened.” 

The memory was simultaneously a revelation and something that had always been there. “It started out as just some songs I was playing with. But when things started to hit the shit, I kept it as a diary, and just wrote under all the staff lines. Sometimes it matches up. Sometimes it doesn’t. It was hard to confide in anyone in those days. I only really had myself. That was after they killed my Chirithy.”

“...Chirithy? A friend of yours?”

“Oh… right… you guys wouldn’t know what they are, would you? They were… little creatures given to us when we started Keyblade training. Mostly the helped out with advice on where to go and what to do. You can’t help but become friends with them. They’re with you all the time. I think the Foretellers made them. Nobody has had one since.”

“Like sophisticated pets,” Ansem said slowly. “Possibly to keep an extra eye on all of you.”

“All this spying. I kind of wish people would mind their own business.” He sighed. 

“Can you still use the Keyblade?”

“Yeah. I can. I’d prefer not to. I’ve had enough of all this. Just saying.” Demyx looked down at his empty palm. If he had the Keyblade, could he possibly get Arpeggio back? Lea was able to use both his Nobody weapons and his Keyblade. It had to be possible for him, too, right? Even had said that weapons worked differently than their elemental powers, but could he get hurt trying like Ienzo?

He wanted, just for once, to determine his own fate. 

“Ansem, I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he said. “There’s something I gotta figure out.”

For the second time that day Demyx went to Even’s apartment. The door was propped open. His coat was on his lap, and he was darning a hole in it. “...Something the matter?” he asked coolly.

“That depends.” Demyx sighed. “Do you think it’s possible for me to regain my sitar? Or do you think it would hurt me like it did Ienzo?”

Even only paused slightly in his stitching. “Truthfully? I think that you will likely be fine. Lea can wield two weapons simultaneously--though why that miscreant needs to be doubly dangerous I have no idea.”

“How do I do it?”

“I’m afraid in that case I’m out of my depths. You might try giving one of them a call. I’m sure Ienzo would not mind if you used his gummiphone in his absence.”

He tugged at the sleeves of his sweater. “Sure. Thanks.” He turned to leave.

“Demyx?” Even set aside the lab coat and approached him. “Could I… perchance… take a look at it?”

“At what?”

“...The Keyblade.” He said it with a great deal of restraint.

“I mean I haven’t consciously summoned it in literally hundreds of years.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be able to.”

Demyx held out his empty palms. He barely had to think about it before it was there, like it had never been gone. He looked at it with familiarity and also with new eyes. He could see Arpeggio in its design--the near-heart of the hilt, the tuning pegs of teeth. It was light, slender, unlike the bulky blades a lot of them carried. 

“...Fascinating,” Even mumbled. “Lea’s chakrams were incorporated into his blade as well.” He reached forward, perhaps unconsciously.

“Don’t!” Demyx said quickly, drawing the blade away. “I’m not going to risk passing this on.” 

Even raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a virus.”

“It sorta is,” he said. 

“As if I would ever be  _ worthy _ . Very well. If it soothes your neuroses.” 

The weapon, in his hands, felt slightly warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun.

“Have you had it long?”

“Literally?”

Even crossed his arms. “You do realize that you simply  _ travelled _ through time, yes? You’re still only twenty-two. A babe.”

He tried not to bristle. “Since I was five. More or less. That’s just how it was then.”

“How  _ what _ was?” His eyes had lit up.

Demyx sighed. He let the Keyblade disappear.

He told Even the story from the beginning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx recounts some of his past to Even, and tries to decide the best way to move forward with his life.

XVI. Interlude

_ Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program. _

_ Recording commences at 16:03. _

\--I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands. 

\--Uh. Sure.

\--Can you state your name and age in its entirety?

\--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

\--That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.

\--Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?

\--I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?

\--I’ll try.

* * *

 

These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the  _ first _ wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light. 

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it  _ hurt. _ But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to  _ be _ something. 

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how  _ lucky _ I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money. 

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so  _ easy. _ I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying. 

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting. 

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure  _ somebody _ survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

…

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got  _ somewhere, _ or I guess some _ when _ is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream. 

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

 

__ End recording, duration--25:17.  
  


XVI.

“Goodness  _ gracious. _ ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“Yours, maybe.”

“You simply  _ must _ tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even said. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

* * *

 

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards. 

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed. 

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?” 

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?” 

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

* * *

 

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it. 

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want  _ you _ ,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood. 

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain. 

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof. 

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

_ Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad. _

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him. 

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were. 

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them. 

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

* * *

 

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished  _ War and Peace _ in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.” 

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand. 

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack. 

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly. 

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said. 

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.”  She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive. 

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him. 

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly. 

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

* * *

 

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful. 

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is  _ that _ ?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you  _ quite _ alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will…  _ not _ ,” Even said with great restraint. 

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighed. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.” 

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

* * *

 

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ienzo wakes up, but any happiness is hard won. Demyx struggles to come to terms with his memory.

XVII.

The weeks passed, one after the other, uniformly. Demyx got used to being cold all the time. He started helping Aeleus more with the shoveling after he read that being in shape boosted magical stamina. Moving helped keep him from thinking so much. 

Ienzo continued to improve, but still didn’t wake up. Taking care of him was a strange kind of intimacy. A husk of the real person. Missing him was a sour, lonely seed. He played sitar for him, sometimes. While they never quite disappeared, his calluses had softened substantially in the past few months, and practicing for so long quite literally hurt. It suited his mood.

He kept studying, found it was easier to remember and understand if he had Arpeggio in hand. He’d always had a knack for remembering songs and chords. Creating the association helped him remember the oh-so complicated theory. Aerith was right; this was going to be  _ hard _ . 

Demyx found himself falling again headlong into nightmares. Not just nightmares about his past, though those were pretty numerous--there were only so many times you could remember getting beaten up and seeing someone die--but also anxiety dreams about Ienzo. Usually sequences of them being separated or literally torn apart. 

It was hard to sleep at night. Some of these nights he made himself some tea and went back to laying down. Others, not so much. 

One of these lonesome nights, he was swilling the dregs of tea leaves around in his cup. It was getting hard to focus on things, like his brain was seizing up. Demyx heard footsteps and, while logically he knew it was just one of them, he felt himself tensing automatically to be attacked. He took a deep breath.

Ansem was looking as haggard as ever. “I was surprised to see the light on so late. My boy, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said simply. 

“A common malady around here. Would you mind some company?”

He did, but he shook his head. Ansem sat down across from him. 

“I’ve heard you want to be a healer,” he said. “I think that’s a noble path.”

“Noble,” he echoed. “Some hope.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard not to feel very blah about things lately.”

Ansem sat forward a little. “How are you coping?”

“Oh, great. I’m peachy keen.” 

Ansem seemed not to know how to reply. “It’s not… simple.”

“I mean, nothing is. I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Everything.” He exhaled. “Mostly… what happens if Ienzo doesn’t wake up?” A few beats of silence. “Even and Aerith both say he will. But it’s been almost a month and a half. I can’t imagine what would happen if…” He trailed off.

“Sora slept for a year, and came out on the other side.”

“Ienzo isn’t Sora, though.”

“No,” Ansem agreed. “Well… should that much time pass… we will weigh our options accordingly.”

He felt like he’d been punched. He struggled to catch his breath.

“But I have faith,” Ansem said. “Ienzo is tenacious. He wouldn’t give up this new life if he had a say in the matter.”

Demyx knew that was true, but felt tears rising in his eyes anyway. He tried fighting them in vain. 

“Admittedly, I feel relieved that the love you have for him is so genuine,” Ansem said. “At first I was… concerned-- He’s grown up so sheltered, and I had no idea if you might have certain…  _ expectations _ of him.”

“Oh my god.” Heat flooded his face. 

“After all, I’d no idea who you were. Can you blame me? At the same time, I think you’ve given him the support that we failed to provide. I never provided a home where he could afford to be vulnerable. It’s one of my greatest regrets. One of many.”

Demyx didn’t know what to say. The embarrassment and tears were both drying up, leaving him somewhat ambivalent. 

“Have you considered your future here?” Ansem asked.

“At the castle? Or Radiant Garden in general?”

“Either. Both.”

Exhausted and emotionally drained, it was hard to really think. “I… want to be with him,” he admitted. “I want to start my life for real. Here is as good as anywhere.”

“Radiant Garden takes a while to grow on one, I think.” He patted Demyx’s hand. “I hope that you can find happiness. I really do.”

“I’ll settle for “stable” first.”

* * *

 

Snow fell in an even, bright sheet. Demyx wiped the frost off of Ienzo’s window. Vitals all normal. Perfect, actually. He sat at the foot of the bed and started idly playing Arpeggio, letting the chords flow with his mood and the snow. Snow always reminded him of minor keys, but not necessarily sadness. 

He heard a sharp breath. At first, he attributed it to his own dissociation. Demyx checked in with himself and tuned a few strings. Arpeggio did not like the cold either. He glanced over at Ienzo. Teal eyes blinked stiffly.

Demyx froze. His heart was in his throat and his mouth tasted like copper.

Ienzo stirred with great difficulty, propping himself on one shaky elbow. He touched his face.

Demyx breathed his name.

Ienzo looked up at him through his bangs. He squinted as if it were hard to see.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, as though being louder would break the spell. “Hey there. I’m so glad you’re awake.”

Ienzo tried to speak, but could only mouth a few words.

Demyx’s heart was racing. He got him a glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser and handed it to him. “Here. Take it easy. Baby steps.” He checked pulse and temperature. Still normal, still solid. 

Ienzo took a few sips. His voice was hoarse. “I heard you,” he said. 

“You mean Arpeggio?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you didn’t always like to listen to me--”

“No, it was perfect.”

“I thought it might maybe help you find your way back.”

“I think it did.”

Demyx could not stop looking at him. He took Ienzo’s hands into his own. His skin was cool and a bit clammy, but present. Alive. 

“It’s been a long time,” Ienzo said, matter of fact.

“About a month and a half. Was pretty touch-and-go for a while,” Demyx admitted. “Your EKG activity has been changing. We knew you would wake up, but it was just a question of-- well,  _ when _ .”

“You’ve been taking care of me.”

“Helping,” he said. “It… makes me feel less, well, helpless.” 

“You’re whole.”

“I’ve been whole.”

“It still feels as though I’m meeting you for the first time.”

He cracked a smile. “It’s been happening slowly,” he said. “My old self and my new self, it’s all sort of…” He knotted his fingers to demonstrate. “I love you. That hasn’t changed.” It felt so good to say it. 

“I love you as well.”

Demyx leaned forward and kissed him delicately. He wanted to pull him close and not let go but made himself back off. He could feel yet more tears.  “I’ve been, um, a bit of a crybaby,” he said. 

“But this time it’s a happy cry.”

He nodded, patting his eyes. “I’m just hoping we can finally be together now,” he said. “‘Cause… no offense… I’m kind of  _ sick _ of this crap.”

Ienzo laughed. “I hope so, Demyx. Er.”

“Demyx is still fine. I don’t really care. But if you really want to know.” He whispered the name.

Ienzo repeated it. “That’s not what I thought it would be.”

“Yeah. It was a revelation to me too at the time.”

“Surely you haven’t spent the whole six weeks at my bedside?”

He shook his head. “I still needed to, like, sleep and stuff. But actually I’ve been spending time with the others. Even and I are friends now, which is  _ really _ weird.”

“I’m glad you two have found this a bonding experience,” he teased.

“He’s been asking me one thousand questions about the past. And trying to study my Keyblade. He keeps trying to touch it, but I can’t risk anyone inheriting that shit. No more kids are going to go through what I went through. This thing dies with me.”

There was a beat of silence. Ienzo dropped his eyes for a moment and felt at the quilt as though he weren’t sure it was real. “I’m glad you have Arpeggio back.”

“Me too,” he said. “But it took a lot of work. A  _ lot _ or work. A lot of learning bad stuff about myself.” He tapped his thumbs together. “I think I want to study healing.”

Ienzo blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean. I know it’s dumb, and I’m probably too stupid, but--”

“No. Neither it nor you are stupid. I think you’d be wonderful.”

He blushed. “I don’t want to feel helpless again. And if I can keep others from feeling that way…” 

“If this is what your heart says to do, do it.”

“I’ve been talking to Aerith. She’s really nice. I was going to start training with her once you got better.” He sighed. “But in a weird way I’ve been lonely. I’ve… really missed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. You saved me.”

“Do you really believe you wouldn’t have woken up?”

A shudder went through him. Demyx pulled his knees close. “It was dark in that water,” he said slowly. “Dark and cold. And there was so much pain I didn’t think I could stand all of it. There was this little bit of me that just said to let go. And if I did I wouldn’t have woken up.”

“You would’ve lost the will to live.”

He nodded. “And I was going to do it. I was so, so close. I didn’t know how to get free. But then I felt you drag me out of the water, and I heard your voice, and I remembered that there are good things, too. I have to make this third or fourth or whatever chance worth it. Because I’m not gonna get another one.” He paused. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about stuff.”

Ienzo hugged him. At the touch Demyx felt a fresh onslaught of weepiness and a rush of affection. “If you want to heal bodies,” Ienzo said slowly, “I want to heal minds.”

Demyx pulled away. “Saving me nearly killed you.” He was  _ not _ going to let Ienzo do this again. It wasn’t worth the cost. 

Ienzo shook his head. “Maybe not literally. Maybe not with magic. Maybe with… with words. It can be a work in progress.” 

“That sounds… good. Who knows. We all need a bit of help.”

* * *

 

The first few days Ienzo was conscious were easy, and gave Demyx probably too much hope. According to Aerith, aside from some headaches he was perfectly healthy. He just needed to get stronger. 

“How’s the studying going?” Aerith asked him. 

“It’s going,” Demyx said. “Makes me feel stupid. But I feel like I’m starting to wrap my head around it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you still interested?”

He considered. “Yeah. I mean, yes.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a few books. “Start reading and memorizing these.”

He wrinkled his nose, but took the volumes. “Never as simple as a Cure spell,” he muttered.

“You haven’t seen anything. Feel free to call me about it anytime. Don’t rush, though.”

Ienzo was still weak and tired easily. They took walks to try and rebuild his strength. Sometimes they talked; mostly they didn’t. Demyx wished he could be witty, could tell jokes and make him smile. He seemed so listless. Had Ienzo seen something in those weeks of dreams? Was he simply exhausted? 

Demyx felt weirdly numb. He was fairly sure this disconnect didn’t reflect on their relationship--he still loved him so impossibly much--but on something within. The inside of his head felt smooth and quiet. Food, even the good food Ienzo made, tasted bland. Sleep was still hard, even when they were in the same bed. 

“Demyx?”

Ienzo’s voice startled him. 

“Are you alright?”

The words took a moment to process. He looked down to his half-eaten toast. “I’m fine. A little tired.”

Ienzo cocked his head slightly. “You seem very tired lately.”

He shrugged. “It’s the cold. Wears me out.” 

Ienzo sat across from him at the table. “Are you sure it’s nothing more? You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” Ienzo took his hand. 

“I’m still learning who that is,” he said softly.

“Well, then how do you feel?”

“Honestly?”

Ienzo nodded.

It seemed to take time to find the strength to speak. “Mostly--tired,” he said. “Tired, and numb. I thought I was supposed to be happy. We can finally put our lives together. And it seems like every day I feel a little weaker.”

“Because of your memories? And what you learned about yourself finding Arpeggio?”

“I… guess.” Demyx’s hand trembled and he withdrew it. “It’s just like. Why did I survive out of those thousands of wielders? And why is it that I of all people remember what happened? It feels so senseless. Couldn’t I have fought harder? Saved someone?”

“You were a child,” Ienzo said. “You were trying to stay alive.”

“And why did Xehanort choose me? I wasn’t ever the strongest and I never could collect as much lux as the others. Again and again I was his puppet. And he threw me away.”

He frowned. “Do you see yourself as not having worth?”

Demyx scoffed. “As a pawn? Absolutely. But as a real person?” He shrugged. 

Ienzo digested all this. “I think you’re depressed,” he said slowly.

Of course. Tragedy over, he was in the processing phase. And that was immeasurably icky. “I guess so. I am just so tired of constantly fighting.” 

“I know you are. But you’re done fighting now.”

“Not really.” He smiled dryly. “Still have to get my shit together. That’s an uphill battle.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Ienzo said. “I have studied psychology, after all.”

He snorted. “Not that I doubt your competence, but wouldn’t it be a huge conflict of interest if my boyfriend were my therapist?”

He dropped his eyes, as he was wont to do every time he had to think through something. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m not certain who else here you would feel comfortable talking to, though.”

Ienzo had a point. Demyx didn’t feel nearly secure enough in his new bonds with the others to bring up his past--moreso than the scant summation he gave Even. “...I guess you’re right.”

Ienzo’s eyes glinted. “You can’t let these feelings fester. They’ll worsen.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“You’re hurting too.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Ienzo.” He took a breath. Demyx was getting better at reading him. He was evading like hell. “Let me help you too.”

“You have none of the training.”

“I can listen,” he said. 

Ienzo’s calm exterior slipped for a moment. 

“I know you have a lot to say. Tell me the story.”

“Will you tell me yours?”

He nodded.

“It’s a deal.”

Later that afternoon, they sat on cushions in front of the library’s fireplace under blankets. Ienzo blew into his hands, shivering almost audibly. The cold almost--but not quite--distracted him from the massive lump of panic lodged in his chest. “I’ve never done this before. Therapy.”

Ienzo smiled a little. “I’ve never counselled. It’s not as if you can make mistakes in this process. Take things at your own pace. We’ve got time.”

Beneath the blanket, his hands shook. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Maybe start with how you’re feeling,” Ienzo suggested gently. 

“I feel… mostly numb. And anxious. And jittery, like someone’s going to come around a corner and get me. Sleeping is hard. Eating is hard.”

“You’ve barely touched your sitar.”

“Exactly. It’s like my whole head is quiet. Even before I had all my memories, yeah I was messed up, but I still wanted to be alive.”

Ienzo’s face remained suspiciously blank. “Do you want to die?”

“Not… die,” Demyx said. He twisted a corner of the blanket in his hands. “Just… not exist, you know.”

Demyx knew this wasn’t easy to hear. Ienzo took a moment to think.  “Unfortunately, you’re feeling this way  _ because _ you’re whole,” he said. “Often the human mind can’t fully comprehend a traumatic situation until after it’s over. Once you’re out, the symptoms become more prominent. It doesn’t help that you had to repress years and years of your time as a Keyblade wielder. It’s a lot of work for the mind to do all at once. It’s actually a miracle you’re as stable as you are.”

“That’s because of you,” Demyx said quietly. “Not because of the power of love or all that. It’s when you were in my head. I know the memories are still there. I remember them. But at the same time, something about it stopped it from hurting so much.”

“I can’t say for certain what I did,” he said. “As I remember it, I was brought to a beach and I found you in the water. I took you out of it. And that’s all. Though--I’m afraid I don’t understand this new power of mine, at all. I’m not even sure I can replicate it, or if I would want to. The strain on my body is clearly too much.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Demyx said. He picked lint off of the blanket.

“The good thing is that by processing these things, the symptoms will lessen,” Ienzo said. “But you’ll have to feel these emotions instead of bottling them up.”

“Oh, goody,” he mumbled. 

Ienzo tried to smile. “I’ve been where you are. I  _ am _ where you are. It’s not easy. But you have to. And you have to want to.”

“I do,” he said. He exhaled. “I want to be happy, and I want to be good, and frankly it really royally fucking sucks that now we have to deal with this shit instead of just, like, hanging out and going on dates and  _ living _ . Like what kind of negative fucking karma did I gather in my previous life? Was everything I did as Demyx that bad? Do I somehow deserve this?”

“You’re not alone, feeling that way.” He sat up a little straighter. “You and I have had abnormal childhoods, and abnormal adolescences, constantly under the control of one adult or another who was playing god with us. Now that we’re real people, and adults, coming to terms with that utter lack of agency is almost impossible.”

“Agency?” Demyx asked. “God damn it. You’re right.”

“From now on I choose my own path,” he said, very softly, as though quoting someone. 

“But how?”

He shrugged.  “Demyx, I really don’t know. We both want to help people, right?”

He nodded. 

“And yet, we cannot adequately help others without taking care of ourselves. As I’ve learned.”

Demyx leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. 

“It’ll be best to take things easy for a little while,” he said. “Do what you can, when you can. This cold doesn’t help either. But getting stagnant will only keep you in that mindset.”

For a few minutes he watched the fire burn across the thick logs. “What about you?” Demyx asked. 

“What about me?”

“How do  _ you _ feel?”

Ienzo looked down. “I feel…” He paused. “Since I regained the lexicon, I feel stable. But at the same time it seems like a false stability. And I’m not sure if that certainty of falsehood comes from a place of truth or a place of paranoia. Hardly anything in my life has  _ ever _ been stable.”

“So it feels wrong for things to even out?”

“I… yes. It does. And it shouldn’t. I know that much.”

“I know what you mean.”

The fire was getting low. They had to either stoke it or leave. “Do you want to keep talking, or take a break?” Ienzo asked. 

“We can keep talking. It’s even colder downstairs.” He took a few logs off of the pile and placed them inside. “How did you ever grow up in this place, anyway?”

“Well, to be fair I only lived here three years. From after my parents died, up until I became a Nobody.”

“...Is it starting to feel like home again?”

Ienzo ran a hand through his bangs.  “Yes and no,” he said. “There are terrible memories tied up in this place, and deep, unshakeable betrayals. And yet. As I’m learning to forgive everyone, and myself, those bonds are healing. And you’ve given me some good memories here, too. But this is as much home as I’ve ever had. At this point I have to create these concepts for myself. I never had them before.”

“What? Of home?”

“Of family,” he said softly. 

Demyx curled a strand of hair around his finger. “I never really had that either,” he said.

“No? Not even when you were a child?”

He snorted. “How do you think this child army thing worked?”

“I do not understand.”

Demyx started fidgeting again. “Well I mean. There were all sortsa different levels to it. Like, there were the wielders who were nobility, and kept passing it down to each other. And then there were just regular families who kept their Keyblades in their family line. And then there were just random ass people who happened to be “worthy” of it.” He said this bitterly. “Lucky me, I was part of the last group.”

“So wielders were the majority group?” He sounded confused. 

“I mean, kinda yeah. Even if you didn’t use it, or train with it, you still  _ had _ one. There were whole sects who spent their lives doing whatever they thought it took to get a Keyblade, just to look better. Remember that there weren’t Heartless or anything then. It’s  _ purely _ a status symbol. But around the time I was a baby Heartless  _ did _ start popping up, taken from the future via the Book of Prophecies or what the fuck ever. And the Foretellers realized they had all this free labor to do the fighting. To gather the light.”

Ienzo leaned forward. The same attentive stare that Even had given him.

The words were pouring out of him, half memory and half revelation. “But of course all the rich snobs aren’t going to do jack shit. And the people that were willing got their asses kicked, or straight up died, and a lot of them had families of their own. But kids, you know, have strong light. What better way to get people to hand them over then feed them a bunch of propaganda about honor? And if they were poor, a promise of three hots and a cot?”

“And that’s what happened to you.”

Demyx nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even really remember my parents, at all. I used to have a picture of them, but… well. It’s lost now."

Ienzo took a moment to digest all this information. “So you were really on your own.”

“Yeah. The older kids would kind of look after the little ones until they were big enough to go out on their own. If you were lucky, you became part of a fighting party and made friends. I was part of a couple, but there’s all the typical drama and infighting and cliquishness. There was a lot of fighting. A  _ lot _ of fighting.” 

“Your parents couldn’t visit you?”

“I’m not really sure,” Demyx said. “I visited them, in my spare time. It was my mom who taught me music. But they... you know, it was hard for the two of them to get by, and they moved around a lot. Eventually... I couldn't find them again."

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He sighed. “I’m sure they had their reasons.”

“I also know what it means to be abandoned.” Ienzo whispered it. 

“It really righteously sucks.” He tried to inject some humor into the words, but it fell flat. “Oh boy. Haven’t had to unpack  _ that _ in a while. Yikes.” 

““Yikes” is right.”

He laughed, a stifled, awkward sound, and touched his brow. “I always get thrown to the wolves.” The laughter dissolved. 

“Let yourself feel it.”

The pain was sharp and sudden, like a stab in the back. His chest and stomach were in knots. Ienzo pulled him close. “I feel sick,” Demyx said through his teeth. “These  _ fucking _ \-- These people are supposed to care about us. Why don’t they?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Ienzo’s voice wavered, losing its previous professionalism. Demyx tried to fight off and compartmentalize it automatically. It took strength to let it batter him. Reminded him too much of drowning in memory. Ienzo was shaking, crying quietly. 

After a while, he went from taking the pain to treading it. Demyx’s breathing grew more even. Despite raw eyes, he felt a sliver of relief. They lay down by the dying fire. “Why do people cry?” Demyx asked. 

“Well, interesting thing about that. When certain emotions rise too high in the body, tears are produced to return the body to homeostasis. Which explains the numbness while crying, and the sense of relief afterwards. Why is it you ask?”

“Just… wondered,” he said slowly. 

“Do you feel a little better?”

He laughed weakly. “I kind of don’t want to talk about feelings right now. If it’s all the same.”

“Yes… I am tired.”

Demyx looked up at the ceiling. It really was lovely, even in the semidarkness; the marble dome was interspersed with stained glass depicting the founding of Radiant Garden. Before he could study them much closer, he saw Ienzo in his peripheral, watching him curiously and also warily. He forced a smile. 

“We should go. It’ll be getting cold soon,” Ienzo said. 

He thought about this for a moment. Wrapped up like this in myriad blankets and layers, he was hardly cold. The look in Ienzo’s eyes had softened. A little shiver that had nothing to do with cold passed through him. “I… I want to stay a little longer,” Demyx said. “It’s nice here by the fire.”

Ienzo sat up a little. “If you would like to be alone with me, you need only ask.”

Another chill, deeper this time. He touched Ienzo’s face. “Isn’t it kind of messed up though? That after this whole deep and complex conversation I want to--”

“I’m sure there’s some kind of deeper reasoning behind it, but frankly right now I do not care,” he said, and kissed him.

It seemed like it had been so long since they’d kissed like this. Demyx pulled him still closer and slid his hands under the layers of sweaters to find skin. Ienzo certainly didn’t feel cold anymore. He straddled him. His long bangs brushed against Demyx’s throat. He brushed his lips against Ienzo’s jaw. His hands fumbled oddly at Demyx’s sides. He started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Demyx asked. 

“There is altogether too much fabric. It feels like fondling potatoes.”

“Oh my god.” He laughed too, some of the tension easing. “Maybe we should continue this in your room?”

“I should… I should like that.”

They ended up having to sneak past everyone like they were teenagers and not fully consenting adults. It was probably the most normal moment of their relationship yet. Once in the relative privacy of Ienzo’s room, he stripped quickly and curled under the covers. “Cold. Cold. Cold.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Not exactly erotic, is it?”

“You want erotic, come back to me when it’s not negative eight thousand degrees in here.” 

“I highly doubt it’s that cold.” But Demyx saw him flinch when he removed his sweater. Ienzo crawled in next to him and shivered. “There’s months more of this yet.”

“God--makes me want to scream.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to contain yourself and be  _ very _ quiet. Where were we?” He kissed him. Demyx felt vaguely tingly, and weirdly nervous. It had been a while but not  _ that _ long. 

He brought Ienzo under him and tugged the blanket up over his shoulders to keep them warm. Demyx reached down to brush the hair out of his eyes. “Are you still cold?”

He shook his head. 

“What do you want to do?”

He blushed. Hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper, “Make love to me.”

Demyx nodded very seriously. He shifted slightly, easing Ienzo’s knees apart and settling between them. He tried not to will his hands to shake. He could already feel the tip of Ienzo’s dick brushing against his stomach. Demyx felt completely weak. He touched the insides of his thighs and heard Ienzo stifle a small sound in his throat. 

“You can tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, you know,” he said softly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“It would be so much easier if you could.” 

He chuckled. “Having someone else in your head isn’t all that much fun.” He traced circles on Ienzo’s inner thigh. “It’s right there, isn’t it?” He responded by kissing Demyx deeply. They barely knew each other’s bodies. Demyx wanted to explore him, to make him feel good. He reached up against the soft skin of Ienzo’s side. “And here?” He leaned down to kiss it and gratified in the small noise Ienzo made before he quickly covered his own mouth. “I love watching you.” 

Ienzo ran his hand through Demyx’s hair, letting it catch at the nape of his neck. He touched the same spot on Demyx’s chest, delicate and light, and he couldn’t hide his change in expression. “I thought so,” he said. His hand drifted farther down, between Demyx’s legs, his touch light and maddening. Demyx kissed him. 

He was completely breathless. “I think maybe now is a good time to--” 

“It’s in the same place. The lube.” There was a sort of rawness in his eyes Demyx had never seen before. It was really turning him on. It was less awkward this time to put the lube on his fingers and to position themselves. “I just want you to be comfortable.” There was not quite as much resistance when Demyx slipped a finger into him. Ienzo barely flinched. “You okay?”

“It’s a lot less tight.”

“That happens,” he said. The second finger also went in fairly easily. 

Ienzo laughed a little.

“You’re cracking up today,” Demyx said. 

“Kind of an inside joke, with myself,” he said. “You’ve helped me change so much. Of course it would be there too.”

Demyx snickered. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a weird guy?”

“Sometimes a little weird is okay.” 

“I think it’s kinda hot,” he said. He withdrew his fingers and lubed himself up. There was still so much vulnerability in this, even as it became familiar. Ienzo shifted his hips forward slightly. This probably wasn’t the best position, but Demyx liked being able to see his face and kiss him. He gripped Ienzo’s thigh and eased in. The amount of friction was incredible and he gasped out loud. Ienzo’s hand, at his hip, curled a little. He absolutely  _ had  _ to move. He tried to be gentle.  “Slower? Faster?”

“Slow is good.”

“...I was hoping you’d say that.” It wasn’t long before he could feel the knot in his stomach begin to tighten. He started to thrust with a little less restraint. The reaction was immediate; he heard Ienzo gasp. “Is that it? There?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He started bucking up against him.

The tension inside of him was getting stronger. He may have been more pent up but he really didn’t want to come first. This was about Ienzo. But he couldn’t fight it. Everything went dizzy for a moment, unfocused. The high of it blunted his senses. He eased his weight off Ienzo and noticed his trembling hands, the stickiness at his hips. “You okay?” Ienzo asked shakily. 

“Dizzy.” Demyx lay down next to him.  “I think we came at the same time.”

“Is that unusual?” He reached for a handkerchief to wipe off his belly. He wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

Mess dealt with, Ienzo wrapped his arms around Demyx’s waist and rested with him. “So people really just do this whenever they want?”

He snorted. “You don’t need, like, a special occasion to have sex.”

“Some things still seem rather bizarre to me.” 

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” 

He brought the blankets up more tightly around them. “How old were you? The first time?” 

Demyx blew a raspberry. “Seventeen. There was a guy in the Dandelions. We went on a few missions together. We’re all thinking, like, the end of the world is coming, and post-fight adrenaline plus teenage hormones is hard to resist. Yeah. But we weren’t like… in love, or anything. He was the only one I slept with. Before you, I mean. Why is it you ask?”

Ienzo shrugged. “Merely curious. So there was no one in the Organization?”

He raised an eyebrow. “ _ In  _ the Organization?”

“While we were in the Organization.”

He shook his head. “Nah. I know some of the others tried that to feel something. I didn’t really care though.” 

Ienzo nodded and lay back down. His eyes were bright. “I should like to take a nap,” he said. 

“I’m getting good at wearing you out,” he teased.

“Amongst other things.” He yawned. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having healed, Ienzo wants to visit the basement lab to truly put his past to bed.

XVIII.

The weeks wore on, one into the other. Coping with the mass amounts of chaos in his memory never became easier, but at least it was bearable now that he was no longer so alone. Demyx’s days took on a quiet sort of comfort. Studying, songwriting, socializing, and yes, therapy. Telling someone else these things was hard, but keeping it to himself was even harder. Similarly, listening to Ienzo’s own stories was no cakewalk. Their lives had been infinitely complicated and troubling.

With all this behind them, there was a start of a real sort of life, not the odd buffering phase of the previous few months. The castle was no longer so dreadfully uncomfortable, conversations between Demyx and the others no longer so stilted. He was starting to develop real friendships with these people. Oddly enough, Demyx found that aside from Ienzo, he was closest to Even. He’d taken an interest in healing theory as well, though more as a pet fascination than a vocation. Every now and again, Even gave him tests. It was his own way of reaching out.

“... How’d I do?” Demyx asked. He hadn’t had much written education of any kind, but at least the tests were something concrete to work toward. More structured than Aerith’s “give me a call when you finish the book” method of teaching.

“In all? Not bad.” Even passed the papers back. “Chemistry is your worst subject. But you knew that.”

“It’s the math.” Demyx skimmed the results and found that, overall, he’d done better than he’d thought. “I just can’t understand it.”

“Well--when it comes to calculating molarity--it’s typically just memorization of the base compounds.”

“And algebra.”

“For some reason I  _ highly _ doubt you’ll have to deal much with kinesthetics in your everyday work. And if you do I’m a phone call away. I rather enjoy figuring it out.” He started shuffling through the sea of papers on his desk. “It gives me something to break the endless tedium of my days, anyway.”

“You’re not going to work on the Replica Program anymore?”

Even drew the hair out of his face. “On one hand, I believe that project has reached its peak. The replicas have gotten to a point where they’ve developed their own personhood, and their own hearts. That was the goal, to a degree. I’m of course going to study them as they age to see if they live out the same lives as ordinary humans. On the other…” He waved his wrist, as though dismissively. “What right have I to create new life? Now that I am becoming human, I feel more responsibility towards the way these replicas are treated. It’s as if I were to give birth. I suppose there might be a medical application to the creation of vessels--say, if someone were to be seriously injured or lose all neurological function--but again, what right have I to continue to meddle with such forces?”

“I can’t help you with that one,” Demyx said. 

“No, it’s something for me to puzzle over. In the meantime, I’m going to continue to reflect on the ongoing intersection between magic and science within my life. It seems… most apt.”

“Why did you become a scientist?”

“Hm?” The question seemed to throw him off-guard. 

“You’ve been with Ansem longer than anyone else. Why’d you do it?”

Even thought about it. “Why is it you play sitar?”

Demyx shrugged. “It’s just part of me. Always has been. If it hadn’t been sitar it probably would have been some other instrument. That one just happened to be given to me first.”

“Precisely. It’s part of your core, perhaps for no real reason. Or  _ many _ real reasons, if you subscribe to fate or a divine. That is how I feel about my research. I could not separate the essence that is “me” from it. This is merely another phase of my life, and so I need to adjust my work accordingly.”

“To what?”

“Something that I hope is meaningful. I do not yet know what exactly.” He smiled. “Learning to change and grow after nearly twelve years of stagnation is taking most of my concentration.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he mumbled, more to himself than Even.

“Incredibly.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll quiz you on the next three chapters next week.”

Demyx sighed. “No problem.”

* * *

 

Demyx was headlong into these chapters when Ienzo found him. With half his mind he was trying to figure out how to make the song he played better, the other half trying to puzzle out the complicated terminology. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings. 

“How is it going?” Ienzo asked.

Demyx jumped, a discordant note throwing him off the melody. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Demyx let Arpeggio disappear. “It helps me remember, if I play,” he said. “Otherwise I can’t focus. If I read a chapter enough while playing a certain song, it sticks. I tried it the other way.  I don’t know how you guys learn stuff.”

“Everyone studies differently,” Ienzo said. “So you’re really going to do it?”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “She told me to read these before I came to her for the practical stuff.” Demyx shifted the books around. 

Ienzo kissed him lightly. 

“So what’s going on with you? I figured you were working on something, but I don’t know what.”

“Well, actually, that’s kind of why I came to find you.”

“The score? Ienzo, you realize I can just  _ read _ it to you, right?” He hadn’t yet looked back at it. In a way, he wasn’t ready, even though he knew what the contents were. 

He shook his head. “Not that. Though I would like to know what’s in it, if you’re not afraid to share. No.” He took the lexicon out from under his arm. “I’m afraid there’s something only you can help me with.”

He smirked. “What was it you said? “If you want to be alone with me you need only ask?””

“What? Do I really speak like that? Never mind-- no, this is something else.” Ienzo sighed. His cheeks were pink. “I want to go to the basement.”

Demyx bit his lip. He’d had a feeling this was coming. Ienzo had been making leaps and bounds dealing with his guilt. No doubt he wanted to make true peace with it. “Okay. Two things. First, not a great idea, all things considering. Second, why me? Why not Ansem or Even or someone else who was involved in the experiments?”

“You’ve got a weapon.” Very matter-of-fact.

He felt the blood drain from his face.  “So--let me get this straight. You want to go to the basement--where it’s crawling with Heartless and god-knows-what-else, not to mention where you’ve seen enough horror to go gray prematurely--”

“I haven’t gone gray. This is my natural hair color.”

“Babe, the last time you remembered something half as horrible you went kinda ballistic. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“I’ve healed since then,” he said. “I have this--” he held out the lexicon, “whatever it means. I think the only way I can find peace is by helping them. Talking with them. Maybe I can help them find some little bit of dignity.”

Demyx exhaled, exasperated. “And do you really trust  _ me _ to defend you? I’m out of shape, and I have no idea how strong the Heartless down there even are.”

He frowned. “What is this really about?” Ienzo asked. “Are you truly afraid of a few Heartless?”

Demyx didn’t know what to say, just that his gut was telling him this was an awful idea. “I guess not,” he said. “I just… I’m afraid that going down there and seeing all that will change how I see you. And I don’t want that to happen.”

Ienzo took his hands.  “I know that. And it might change your mind. But I… I need to do this. I hope you understand.”

Demyx knew what had happened in the basement. Maybe he didn’t know all the details--the how or why of it all--but he knew Ienzo had been involved in this dangerous human experimentation. He knew, factually, that Ienzo couldn’t really be at fault, that he’d been a child and too young to accept responsibility, especially since he'd been so manipulated. But at the same time, Demyx knew seeing all of it would be a different story. It would make it tangible. And yet. “You’d do the same for me. Alright. Let’s free some ghosts, or whatever.”

Ienzo kissed him. “I love you.”

“I can’t say  no to you. But you knew that.” He marked the place in his book and set it aside. “I’d feel better if we got some supplies. And if you rested. You look exhausted.”

“So tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Later that night, while Ienzo read in bed, Demyx headed down to Even’s quarters. Slick, hot anxiety was building inside of him, making him vaguely anxious. He knocked, was let in. Even was folding laundry. “Did you need help with something?” he asked. Then frowned. “You do not look well.”

Demyx didn’t know what to say. “Ienzo wants to go to the basement.”

He paused just the slightest. “Yes. And?”

“Well--what if something’s down there?”

“I thought you could adequately defend yourself now?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” He exhaled and pulled his hand through his hair. “He’s got the lexicon. What if he tries using his powers again?”

Even shook his head. “He’s aware of the risk. I doubt he’d try.”

“What if he doesn’t do it consciously?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I had the impression it took a lot of effort for him to traverse your memory.”

“But he couldn’t control it. I don’t know what this is going to entail. If I’m just going to beat up some Heartless, or maybe there’s nothing down there and this is just for closure. But  _ what if _ .”

“Since when was forethought a strength of yours?” Even asked, almost bitterly. “Boy, now you’re making me worry.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

Even sighed. He set aside the socks he was folding. “Come along.”

They went down to his lab. Even pulled out a first aid kit, some ethers, and some potions. He approached another cabinet and took out a vial and a syringe still in its wrapping. He placed them on the table. 

“You’re aware of the correlation at this point, of heart failure and overuse of power.”

“Well--yes.” The sight of the medicine made him shiver.

“I’ve been poking through our research. The reason why it struck Ienzo so intensely has largely to do with the fact that he quite literally grew up as a Nobody. Trying to adequately corroborate his humanity with a Nobody will served to heighten the risk. It may not happen again. Perhaps he’s adjusted. At the same time… it may.”

“What’s that?”

“A serum to induce sleep. Should he begin to exhibit the same symptoms, you should dose him. And then call for help. I’m giving this to you as a precaution only.” Even unwrapped the syringe, prepped it, and then capped it off. Demyx caught sight of the label on the bottle. He knew enough by now to recognize it. 

“That’s a poison. Not a sedative.”

“Sleep akin to death,” Even said, as though quoting. “Better than actual death, is it not?” He held it out. Demyx didn’t take it.

“I can’t.”

“You must. This is--” He exhaled. “For goodness sakes, you might not even need it.” Even placed it on the table in front of him. “Have you tried convincing him out of it?”

“Yes. But how can we escape it? We live here. He’s reminded of it every day. If it’s not now, it’d be some other time.”

“The boy is… determined.” He sighed. “I’m trusting you with this. With him. Do you understand?”

Demyx nodded.

“So take it.” 

He took all the medicine back with him, feeling sick. He hid the syringe in the first aid kit and tried to pretend it wasn’t there. 

Ienzo was still caught up in his book. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked.

“Oh, plenty,” he said breezily. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly, not as anxious as I thought.” He shut the book and settled down in bed. 

“Can I… stay with you tonight?”

Ienzo frowned. “Of course.” He lifted the covers and let Demyx crawl in. He drew Ienzo close, breathed in his smell. “I’m not sure why you felt like you had to ask. You scarcely sleep in your own bed anymore.”

“Dunno. I figured you might want some time alone.”

“I have spent a lot of time thinking about this alone. I don’t mind the company.” 

Demyx looked at him. His eyes bright and alive. He kissed him once. Ienzo settled down against him and was asleep before long.

Demyx did not sleep a wink.

* * *

 

Morning. Breakfast. He bathed, feeling vaguely numb and dissociated, slightly outside of himself. When he saw Ienzo in his apprentice’s coat, he almost wondered if this was a bizarre dream. He gathered up their bag of supplies.

“You sure you want to do this?” Demyx asked. 

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He sighed. “Lead the way, then.”

He followed him through the corridors, through the familiar, then down dozens and dozens of stairs to a locked door. The air down here was cold, and it smelled dank and musty. Crystal sconces lit everything brightly, but at the same time he felt as though he was squinting in the gloom. At the door, Ienzo hesitated.

“Did you forget the code?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo summoned the lexicon. The soft rustle of its pages barely broke the suffocating silence. Demyx felt his heart in his throat. This was not a good sign. Ienzo meant business. Demyx tried to tell him then what might happen. But he had to know. There was no way he  _couldn't_ , right?

He punched in the code, and in they went.

It did not look dissimilar to the containment cells of the Castle that Never Was. Gray floor. Black and silver doors. Stark, harsh fluorescent light. A couple of these spaces were offices, and what looked to be a small lab. Papers were everywhere, all over the floors. Beakers had been smashed, a computer screen cracked. Ienzo took it all in with little emotion. 

The smoky, musty smell only ever got stronger. “They smell us,” Demyx said. He brought an arm up in front of Ienzo automatically. He pushed it away.

“Not yet.”

They moved forward bit by bit. Ienzo absently touched the numbers on the cells, peeking inside here or there. Demyx didn’t  _ see _ anything, but he could taste it. The cells were riddled with scratch marks, places where the floor had been gouged away. A sink bad been torn out of the wall. A mattress ripped to shreds. 

“There’s no one here,” Demyx said. 

“Don’t speak so soon,” Ienzo said.

A silhouette of pure darkness crawled out of the ground. It looked weirdly human in shape, more like a Novashadow than the little Shadows he was used to. It did not give chase, but seemed to merely watch them. 

Darkness began to slither out of the back cells, forming yet more Shadows. “Freaky,” he hissed. The Keyblade snapped into his palm. One rose out of the pool and shuffled towards them. “Stay behind me.”

“Not yet,” Ienzo said. He crouched down, and Demyx almost screamed, but the darkness on the floor didn’t crawl over him like it normally would’ve. “Do you remember me?”

Was he talking to the Heartless? It paused, tilted its head. 

“I was little then,” Ienzo said. “Not anymore.”

The Shadow twitched and shuddered. A few more peeked out. “What are you doing?” Demyx asked.

“Giving it the Sora treatment.” He exhaled. “Put that away. We’re not here to hurt you all. Isn’t that right?”

The blade in his hand trembled a little. 

“Demyx?” Ienzo prompted.

He let it disappear. Raised his hands, as if to show how empty they were. 

Ienzo smiled kindly at the Heartless. “You’ve been here for such a long time, so alone.” The lexicon opened to a random page, of a little girl. “Isn’t that right, Jamie? That’s you, right?” He held the book out to the Heartless. It seemed to stare at the page within, of the photo. “I wanted to apologize for all we put you through. There was a bad, bad man. He made all the people around him sick with evil. And they took it out on you. On me, too. And my friend next to me. That doesn’t make it right, but the bad man’s gone and everyone wants to help you.”

The Heartless seemed to convulse.

“I can’t imagine it’s fun down here. There’s nobody and nothing to play with. But there’s another place with lots of friends waiting for you.”

The Shadow raised a claw.

“Ienzo,” Demyx hissed. Ienzo held out his hand. 

The Shadow placed its claw on the photo of the girl. It was not twitching anymore, not in the way Heartless usually did.

“Do it now,” he whispered. “She’s ready.”

He slashed. The Heartless had no defense; it was almost made of smoke. Its heart rose and vanished into nothing. Demyx was shaking. “Oh my god,” he said. “Are you… are you okay? I should’ve given you my coat.” He gave him a good once-over. No threads of darkness, no injury. 

“I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

“How many are there?”

“Left? I’m not sure. But these aren’t ordinary Heartless. This was the genesis.”

The Heartless, having seen all this, did not flee the way they were akin to when their brethren died. They came forward in a lump. They did not attack. They left plenty of space between them and Ienzo.

“They’re making a line,” Demyx said. 

“They want to be free.” He smiled. His eyes were watering. “Who wants to know who they are?” 

It took hours.

Ienzo gave nearly every Heartless the same speech, but he altered it slightly, peppering in details he must have read somewhere--information about a beloved pet, a favorite color, updates about loved ones who were still alive. Humanizing them. It was only once this semblance of humanity was found that they could go. Peacefully.

Even though the Heartless were weak, the fact that there was so  _ many _ of them and that this was stressful to watch tired him. He waited for one to break rank, to attack and injure. None did, though.

“Are you alright?” Ienzo asked. Demyx had been standing to his right and noticed his full face for the first time in hours. He was sweating, his complexion washed out. Demyx swallowed.  _ No. _

“Just a bit out of shape,” he said breezily. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.”

More speeches. More Heartless. Demyx was wondering if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, or if Ienzo was looking worse. Pale. Shaky. No blood yet. But soon? The darkness was getting thinner and thinner until there were no more Heartless waiting. 

“Is that it?” Demyx asked hoarsely. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” 

“Yes, that was--” He calculated quickly, then furrowed his brows.  “Ninety-nine. There’s one left. Maybe it’s hiding? Can you handle one more?”

“I think. You?”

He nodded. When he stood, his knees shook, and Demyx helped him up. He was getting weak. They had to get out of here, to get medical help. Demyx tried to covertly steer him in the opposite direction. “Why did they forgive me?” Ienzo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The bitterness… they just let it go. Without fail. There was not even  _ one _ rogue Shadow that tried to attack.” His eyes were wide. 

“They’ve been here ten years,” Demyx said. “That’s a long time to suffer. Sometimes you have to let it go to make the pain stop.”

He looked at his trembling palm. “I see. I… understand.”

Demyx glanced over his shoulder. “I think we’ve found our stowaway.”

It was the humanoid Heartless, the first one they’d seen. They approached it slowly. 

“We’re here to help,” Demyx said. “Do you want to go be with your friends?”

The Heartless paused. It twitched irritably. 

“Ienzo,” Demyx said nervously. “Maybe start working your magic, yeah? My buddy here seems a little agitated.” He was positive that it was stronger than the last. Strength sapped, Demyx didn’t know if he could honestly take it on. 

A hint of panic crept into Ienzo’s voice. “I can’t--” He started manually shuffling the pages. “I can’t find their--”

The Neoshadow hissed. Demyx drew his Keyblade. “Come on. Let’s talk this out,” he said. “I’m offering you a get-out-of-jail free card here, friend.” 

Once it lay eyes in the Keyblade, the Heartless screamed. The sound almost incapacitated him, harsh, like razors against his eardrums. It leapt at him.

Demyx found himself awash in darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx and Ienzo save the victims of the experiments, but it has a price.

XIX.

Pain seared down his right arm. He swatted automatically, blindly, and found himself countering the enraged Heartless. It pressed down harder on him and seemed to want to rip the blade out of his hands. He pulled back as hard as he could.

In this chaos, he heard Ienzo yell-- “Hold them off!”

“Are you serious?” What the  _ fuck _ was he doing? 

Demyx jumped back. The Heartless was faster than him and continued to batter as his poor defense. Even in those days he hadn’t been great at physical combat, relying on magic instead, but he had next to no magic. Demyx ran blindly, hoping to get in a slash to its flank. It grabbed him by his leg and threw him against the wall, knocking the breath out him and flooding his vision with stars.

“Are you alright?” Ienzo shouted.

Nothing felt broken, but he could barely move his left leg. Must have pulled a tendon badly. “Oh, I’m fucking peachy!” He forced himself to stand and his knees nearly buckled. It dove. At this point it was just playing with its food. 

“Hey!” There was a raw shrillness to Ienzo’s voice. It turned slightly. Demyx’s heart flew into his throat.

“Ienzo, no!”

It dashed towards him. Ienzo held something up--a red file--at eye level, unflinching even as it barrelled at him. “This is you!” He cried. “This is what we did to you. We destroyed you. We made it so that you can’t remember. We even took away your name! And then we destroyed it. And this is all that’s left. You deserve more than to be a letter. You… you’re…” He glanced at it briefly. “Even when you were here you had friends who loved you deeply. Friends who risked their hearts to save you. Isn’t that right? Subject X?”

They stopped dead in their tracks. Demyx limped towards them, preparing to strike.

“No,” Ienzo said. “Put it away.”

“Ienzo--”

“She’s listening.”

“She?”

The Heartless looked at Demyx for a long moment. 

“Friends?” Demyx said slowly. He blinked. It all clicked. Everything. “Lea and Isa? You mean she’s that girl they were talking about?” She hadn’t disappeared. She’d transformed. 

The Heartless chirped urgently. 

“Yes! Lea and Isa,” Ienzo said slowly. “They tried so hard to save you. I remember.”

“They still miss you,” Demyx added. “They were just telling me all about you. They would have come themselves but they… they had to go away.”

Ienzo let the file come down. It dropped out of his palm.

“Wait…” Demyx said. He struggled to pick up the first page, the one with the picture clipped to it. “No…” He blinked rapidly, as though it might disappear. He was dizzy with memory. 

Ienzo was breathing hard. His normally impeccable posture had wilted, like he’d been the one fighting her off. “Whatever’s the matter? Is it your injuries?”

He shook his head. “I know her.”

Ienzo squinted. “You… know…”

“I  _ know _ her,” he reasserted. “She’s… she’s from my time.” He turned towards Subject X and jabbed towards the picture. “This is you, right?”

The Heartless whistled. 

“You… you probably don’t recognize me,” Demyx said. “I was younger then, and my hair was different. But I’m all grown up now. You didn’t get to do that, did you?” He summoned the Keyblade and held it flat in his hands. “You complimented my Keyblade, because it was unique. My name changed, but then it was…” He whispered it.

Ienzo’s expression was incredulous. 

The Heartless eyed him more closely.

“I know,” Demyx said. “Really different. And Ienzo is too. We’re all grown up now. I wish… I wish our party hadn’t fallen apart. You were pretty much the only cool one there. But you always kept to yourself. And then I saw you in the Dandelions too. It was the Foretellers who pulled us out of time and wiped our memory. You just had the shittiest luck to end up here.”

She held out one trembling claw. Demyx took it. The sharp claws sliced into his right palm, sending yet more pain through him, but he held it in. Ienzo reached for him. 

“It’s okay,” he lied, more for the girl than for Ienzo. “She’s not hurting me. We’re going to help you, okay? We can make it stop hurting. Do you want that?”

The Heartless tightened her claw. He took a quick breath through his teeth.

“You’ll be free,” he said. “We’ll all be free, Skuld. Close your eyes.”

The Heartless listened. Demyx took the Keyblade and drew it through her heart.

And then it was quiet. And there were no more Heartless. 

Pain throttled him more than anything else, and he stifled a whimper.

“Let me see your hand,” Ienzo said. He himself didn’t look so hot. Demyx reached into the bag and retrieved the first aid kit. He dropped to a kneel. His leg hurt too much to keep putting weight on it. Ienzo’s own hands, when they took his, were trembling. “It’s not infected.” Then more gently, “You were so very tender with her.”

He wrapped it with gauze. Demyx was trying to be tough but couldn’t help flinching. “That should hold until we can get you to Even or Aerith. Where else are you hurt? Here.” He gave Demyx one of the potions. It tasted slimy and sweet. The pain subsided to a dull throb. “You were limping.”

“I’m pretty sure I just tore a hammy. I don’t think anything’s broken.”

Ienzo felt at the bones anyway. His eyes were dull. When he looked down, Demyx could see the faint sliver of red beneath his nose and the world seemed to come to a stop. 

Demyx was barely aware of it when he spoke. “Ienzo? You’re bleeding.”

He touched it. Demyx could tell he hadn’t known. What power even was this? Use of the lexicon? Had he created some illusion for all this Heartless that Demyx hadn’t seen? Or was it the feeling? He’d dragged Demyx out of the pain. And now he’d done that again, for them, times a hundred. 

“It’s okay,” Demyx said numbly. “Even told me what to do in this situation.”

The brightness in him seemed to be fading. “You asked him?” Ienzo asked quietly. 

God. This all hurt so badly. “You’re going to be fine.” He dug out the syringe. “Give me your phone. I’m going to call them.”

“What’s that?” Ienzo asked. There was a trace of denial in his voice, which was somehow worse. It felt like a betrayal. 

He took a breath. “Something to slow the damage to your heart.”

“Damage?”

“Absorbing all that pain drained the strength from your will. Now your organs are shutting down.”

“So I’m to sleep again?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t feel it. The power.” He shuddered a little, and Demyx caught him when he fell back into his arms. 

“I know.” Demyx touched his face. “I love you,” he said. And stabbed.

Ienzo didn’t lose consciousness all at once. It took a moment, a moment where Demyx could clearly see him fighting it. There was a rough, animal fear. Eventually he went limp. Tears ran itchily down Demyx’s face. He took Ienzo’s pulse. Weak. He took the phone out of Ienzo’s pocket. Dialed. He couldn’t get the words out from crying too hard.

“It’s alright,” Even said. “I know. We’re coming.”

This shouldn’t feel familiar. 

Through the veil of wetness in his eyes, he kept monitoring him. Demyx could hear him struggling to breathe. If it weren’t for his leg he could carry Ienzo, but his arms were shaking too hard with a potent mixture of stress and exhaustion. Had he been too late? He should’ve made him turn back. This was all his fault--

Ienzo’s pulse dropped. Numbly Demyx began to do compressions. How much time had passed, or was passing? Where were they? What was he going to do if--

All of his readings had been just that--readings. Theory wasn’t going to help him here. 

Before long he found himself being pushed out of the way. He hadn’t heard footsteps or voices. Everything was ringing a little bit and was fuzzy. Even and medicine, blond hair and white coats. Dilan appraised Demyx, pulled him aside. Only the agony of his leg when he tried to get him to walk shook the weird spell. Something about an injury. Something about blood loss. Dilan hefting him up. Dilan, pulling harder when he resisted, but the combination of exhaustion and weakness made it an easy squabble. Getting carried like a baby. Aerith as she ran down the stairs. 

Being set down on his bed. Dilan, cleaning and tending to his hand and arm. Tea being pressed into his uninjured hand. The pain of it all was incredible. Demyx was vaguely aware of being offered painkillers, or a sedative, but was too numb to consent to it. 

Outside, it began to snow.

Hours must’ve passed. Gradually, gradually, the ringing in his ears subsided, and he became more clearly aware of his surroundings. The blanket around his shoulders. The now-cold teacup in his hands. The distinct, sharp throb of his arm and leg, a diagonal slash of pain across the body. Demyx reached for the bottle of painkillers he’d been given for the scratch on his hand months ago, took two, and sat down.

There was a gentle knock at the door. His heart immediately started racing. He stood, in his haste forgetting he could barely move, and fell.

“Oh, bother,” Even said. “Here. Right. Up we go.” He helped Demyx sit back on the bed. His hair had been pulled out of his face and was stringy with what seemed to be sweat. Eyes dull. Complexion washed out. Without another word he began to prod at Demyx’s wounds. 

“What’s going on,” Demyx asked. “How--”

“Getting yourself worked up will not help the situation,” Even said levelly. “Let me see your leg.” He felt at it gently. Demyx was right in his diagnosis; it was only a torn hamstring. He wrapped in in an elastic bandage over his jeans. 

“Even,” Demyx hedged desperately. “He’s not--”

“No,” Even said. “Ienzo lives yet.”

He felt only the slightest relief. “You say that as if it’s not guaranteed.”

Even sighed. “His condition is quite critical. Aerith is doing what she can. The situation he’s in… it’s quite extreme. We’re still not fully sure of the extent of the damage.”

“He didn’t know he was doing it,” Demyx said. He hiccupped. “He was taking them out of the pain. Out of the memory, like he did for me.”

“And the interference of darkness doubtless doesn’t help.”

“I didn’t know either,” Demyx said. “I just--I thought--I didn’t  _ see _ anything, and then when I did see he was getting weak I tried to get him out of there. But then I got attacked.”

“You’re not at fault.”

“Yes I am.” His voice rose on a wave of hysteria he barely felt. “I shouldn’t have let him do this at all--”

“As you said. This would’ve happened sooner or later. Ienzo, in his humanity, has become quite impulsive.”

“Still, I--”

“I believe he was more sensitive to their pain than he let on. He always was acutely aware of darkness. When he was a little boy, he would tell me he could hear the screams. I always thought it was trauma. Now I'm not so sure.” Even brushed a strand of hair out of his face.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” It was starting to hit him now. Demyx wanted anger, wanted to be screamed at.

Even’s gaze was steely. “You two were the only ones equipped to end this suffering, and willing to do it. I cannot be mad that has a price.” 

“I knew her.” The tears were running freely now. “Subject X. Her name was Skuld.”

Even blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “We were both Dandelions.”

“I did think that was a needlessly poetic name.” Even squeezed Demyx’s hand gently. His skin was cold and papery. “This has obviously been quite traumatic for you.”

“What about you?”

“It is never easy to see Ienzo in danger,” he said haltingly. “I admit I do not care for this new self-sacrificing streak of his.”

“You raised him.”

Even gave him an odd look. “You know how I feel about Ansem’s paternal instincts. What was I to do, let the boy go rabid?” He sighed. “Like many days of our past, that was a harsh one. All of a sudden I’m presented with a bloody, traumatized child and expected to make it all better. Not unlike now. At least you’re speaking to me. It took him close to a year to talk.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You should get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

“But what if he--”

“Should the situation worsen, I will rouse you.” He stood. “He would not want you to push yourself for his sake.”

Even had a point. Demyx nodded. Left alone in the room, he lay under the mound of covers and counted every breath until he fell asleep.

* * *

 

The snow kept falling.

When he woke, he tried to stand and nearly cried out. Not only was he hurt, he was bruised and sore. He was able to at least limp around a little. He made his way over to Ienzo’s room, step by painful step. Aerith sat in the chair by the bed. One of her hands was on Ienzo’s forehead; the other held his. She wasn’t mouthing spells. Demyx shivered.

She looked up at him and offered a tired smile.

“How is he?” Demyx asked cautiously. He limped over to the foot of the bed.

“It was touch and go most of the night,” she admitted. “He was fighting to hang on, but the internal damage and exhausted will made it quite a fight. He finally stabilized around dawn. Breathing and pulse are steady. All good signs. You did the right thing by inducing that sleep. If he was conscious, it would have been too much.”

Demyx sat weakly. “Is he going to pull through?”

“I’m almost certain.” Her expression was serious, though. “The will is probably the most mysterious and least explored aspects of the human body. He’s exhausted it down to near nothing. But he’s still alive. If it was truly gone he would have passed on by now. And he gets stronger every hour. I think that means something.” She sighed. “We’re not meant to have certain powers, as much as they’re tools for us. You’ve both been lucky so far. I don’t think you’ll be lucky again. Meddling with forces of nature like this is deadly.”

“I know. It was his connection to them that did it, I think.”

“Them?”

“The people in the experiments.”

Aerith dropped her eyes. “I was only a kid when it happened,” she said. “I thought it was a ghost story, at first. But we’d hear it. The screaming, at night. Internalizing all that pain… it makes sense now.” She took her hand off Ienzo’s forehead. “I wish I could do something about your injuries. But I have no magic left. I can come back and tend to them later after I get some sleep.”

“It’s okay. I’m probably just going to stay around here anyway.”

“You’re all shaken up about this,” she stated.

Demyx exhaled. “I’m used to seeing people in danger. Not so used to seeing people I love that way.” 

“Psychically, it takes a toll. Remember to take care of yourself too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

She stood and gave him a hug. “I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything urgent changes between now and then, you know what to do.”

For several long minutes after Aerith was gone, Demyx watched Ienzo breathe. His skin was sallow, almost yellowish. He could see the veins in Ienzo’s hands. “Here we are again,” he said sadly. 

His hand hurt too much to play Arpeggio. Snow fell in a straight, even sheet. 

“...Are you alright?”

Demyx turned slowly. Ansem was just as haggard as the rest of them. “Kinda beat up. But I’ll be okay.” 

He squeezed Demyx’s shoulder and sat in the chair. “That was a brave thing you two did. Infinitely stupid and foolish. But brave. This began with Ienzo being thrust into danger, and ended with him willfully choosing it. Life can be… odd like that sometimes.” 

“The Heartless down there were different than the normal ones,” Demyx said. “It’s almost like they were a bit more human. More aware.”

“Maybe because you had never viewed them as human before.”

“Maybe.” He turned again to Ienzo. “I don’t understand why this happened. I mean… logically, I do. I have power. Aerith has power. Why can’t he?”

“Ienzo’s power was borne not out of a place of necessity, but of pain,” Ansem said. “Overcoming that pain made use of it all the more dangerous. At least, that’s what I think of it. I’m hoping from here on out you can determine your own fates without that weight hanging over all. It’s time to move on. Truly. After all this I do not want to spend one more moment dwelling on Xehanort. That monster deserves nothing. I want instead to focus on the lives of those dear to me.” He touched Ienzo’s hand. 

“Yeah,” Demyx said. “Me too.”

* * *

 

The weeks passed with a simultaneous uniformity and variation. The cold snaps became less frequent. Snow subsided to sleet, then to rain. Demyx kept studying, kept playing Arpeggio, kept Ienzo company. Aerith taught him spells to help care for his sleeping form, and to his surprise he found he picked them up quickly. There  _ had _ been a reason for all this reading after all. 

The ache of missing him never quite went away. Especially when he slept at night alone. Even if he’d had an otherwise good day, he was bound to remember some time or another. Inevitably. Inexorably. 

He’d been given one of the spare gummiphones by Ansem, urging him to keep in touch with the others. The device took some getting used to. So did the constant communication. He did like to see what the others got up to on the photo program. They all looked so… happy. Lea or Roxas would reach out to him every now and again, and he tried to sound optimistic. After all, if Ventus could sleep for twelve years, what was a few weeks?

He was taking a nap when Ienzo woke up.

Only since he’d been using the little basic spells could he appreciate Aerith’s power. Performing minor vital checks, scans, or atrophy-reversing spells wore him out like nobody’s business. 

He was shaken awake. Gently. When he saw Ienzo standing over him he thought it was part of a dream. 

“I sleep for weeks, and yet somehow you’re the one that must be woken,” he said drolly. His voice was hoarse, scratchy. 

“Ienzo?”

He smiled. “Good morning.”

The weight of all the previous weeks crushed him all at once. Demyx pulled him into his arms. Tasting tears. Tasting happiness.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx, Ienzo, and the others try to find peace and rebuild their lives.

Epilogue

“...That should do it. You’ve  _ got _ to be more careful. I’ve got other things to do. You know?”

The little kid let go of his friend’s hand and flexed his now-healed knee. “Whatever,” he mumbled, clearly trying to hide the fact that there were still tears in his eyes. Then, a little more shyly, “Thanks.”

“Just don’t become a repeat patient.”

Demyx watched the kid and his friend walk away, to carry on with their lives like they hadn’t just had one of the worst wipeouts he’d ever seen. Skateboards had come to Radiant Garden. They were popular. And they didn’t go particularly well with the rough cobble roads. He and Aerith had their hands full tending to all the different myriad wounds. But better skateboards, he decided, than Heartless. There were still some around, here and there, but they grew less numerous by the day.

He dusted off his hands. It was a lovely spring day, and he hadn’t yet got a chance to actually enjoy it. He took out his gummiphone and texted Ienzo.  _ Just set 3 different kids’ broken bones. I’ll be back in 10 if you want to grab lunch. _

_ I was about to ask you the same, _ Ienzo wrote back.

Their relationship had deepened over the past year. Changed. Of course, the fact that neither of them were ending up in life-threatening situations did lessen the stakes significantly. The transition from dramatic to mundane had been a learning experience. They’d learned to spend time apart, and to pursue their own projects. Nothing would ever be quite normal, but this was about as close as it would get.

Demyx took his time passing through town. Now that he was getting to know people, it no longer felt so alien. Being seen and being known no longer were so terrifying. He wasn’t an Organization member, or a Dandelion. He was Just Demyx, and that was enough.

He saw another small herd of skateboarders, but noted with relief that these ones had adequate safety gear. 

The castle was still a work in progress. They were all busy with their own goings-on, and it was huge; keeping the place clean and habitable would have been a tough job for many more people than just the six of them. Every now and again the committee would lend help and supplies, but it was the sort of place where if one thing was fixed, another broke. 

Ienzo was, as always, in the library, though at least he was in front of a window this time, and not holed up in a dark alcove. For a moment, Demyx saw him first, gently shifting blueprints and papers to and fro. Honestly, seeing him working so earnestly on something he cared about was… pretty sexy. 

“Baby, are you a library book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

Ienzo’s expression remained completely deadpan, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’ve used that line before.”

Demyx gave him a kiss. “You been here all morning?”

“More or less.” He started rolling up the delicate print paper. “I wanted to take another look at it before I show it to the committee. Incorporating Dilan’s suggestions was necessary, but now I suspect I’m developing carpal tunnel.” He shook out his hand. “But I suppose you can fix that for me. It is  _ quite _ convenient to have my own on-call physician.”

“Even would murder you if he heard you call me that.” Demyx took the offending hand and cast a minor anti-inflammatory spell. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a healer. In training.”

“I think he’s a touch jealous.”

“I don’t see why he should be. He doesn’t have to chase kids around just to get them to wear helmets.” 

Ienzo put the plans in their cardboard tube and sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be fully happy with it. It’s been an exercise in creativity, if anything.”

“Well. For what it’s worth,  _ I _ think it’s great.”

He stacked the books neatly. Botany, architecture, spiritualism. Ienzo took off his reading glasses and set them aside. “In a way, this feels as though it’s my firstborn,” he said softly. “It’s a complete end to this part of my life. Now I’m to head into the unknown.”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I’d say nerve-wracking. Shall we get lunch? I could use some fresh air.”

“There’s a new noodle place I wanted to try out. I can’t remember the last time I had some half-decent udon. Think you can spare an hour or two on me?”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

On their way they passed Aeleus, who was diligently painting over the pale green walls in a pale blue that brought more light into the space. Of them all, he was the most diligent in the repairs.

“We’re going out,” Ienzo said. “Would you like anything for lunch?”

He nodded, barely breaking brush stroke.

“I guess we’ll surprise you,” Demyx said.

The spring flowers were just coming into bloom. Seeing all the color after so much gray stillness made the world feel completely new. Ienzo sneezed. “Yes, my favorite time of year,” he said dryly. 

“If you took your allergy medicine like I told you, you wouldn’t be such a wreck.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. 

They grabbed their lunch and sat at an outside table. Town was constantly growing. It seemed like every week something new popped up--new shops, new homes. The committee was constantly spread thin, though it seemed like mostly everyone was willing to give a few hours of time here and there. More and more people were returning.

“It probably won’t ever be like it was, but it certainly does give me a kind of hope,” Ienzo said. 

“It’s grown on me,” Demyx said. “I like it here.”

“It does feel rather more like home than it used to. Though I suppose it’s more the people than anything.”

Demyx smiled a little. 

“If you were able to travel freely again, would you?” he asked. 

Demyx considered this. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve seen a lot in my time. Kind of enough. But I haven’t seen the worlds when they’re at peace. What about you?”

“Part of me says yes, absolutely. But the other part…” He shrugged. “You’ve got to either hide or assimilate to maintain world order, which does take a certain amount of work.”

“What’s the point of world order? What happens if it isn’t up-kept? All these years, and nobody could give me a good answer.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows. The noodle between his chopsticks broke in half and disappeared into the broth. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “Perhaps it warrants some investigation.” 

“Maybe you can work on that next.”

“Maybe,” he said cheerfully. “Though--this world is barely stabilizing.”

“Last time I talked to Cid, he said that they’re going to have to start planning some kind of government,” Demyx said. “Even though there hasn’t been any real crime or anything, someone’s still gotta step up.” He scraped at the bottom of the bowl and found there was nothing left but a few leeks. Healing was hungry work.

“I’d heard. They’d called Ansem down a couple of days ago. They offered him the job. He was once sage king, after all.”

Demyx whistled. “How did that go?”

“He turned them down. Said he didn’t want power, and didn’t deserve it. He did say he would serve as advisor to whoever ends up in the position, should they want his advice. Cid and  Leon are going to organize a town hall. And then eventually there will be elections.”

“I wonder who it’ll be.” He grimaced. “Wait. Does that mean they’ll have to live with us?”

Ienzo chuckled. “Wouldn’t that shake things up. For some reason I don’t think that would go over too well. If you haven’t noticed, we’re all just a touch insular.”

“Have I noticed. They’re barely accepting  _ me. _ ”

“Oh, don’t be too hard on yourself. I think Ansem rather likes having you around. It makes him feel young.”

Demyx hesitated. Ienzo was smiling, but there seemed something polite about it. Not so genuine. “How are things between you two?” he asked cautiously.

“Improving,” he said. “All the while improving. There’s more bitterness in me than I thought. But I assure you I am working through it. We both are, and we’re both willing, which is what matters.” 

“You don’t have to forgive him to love him.”

“I know. But I feel as though I need to, to move on.” He set his chopsticks aside. “Are you still hungry?”

Demyx sighed. “Always,” he muttered. “Aerith said eventually my body will adjust to using so much magic so frequently. I beg to differ, though.” 

“Are you still enjoying it?”

He considered. Truthfully, all those hours and days and nights of studying, then coupled with the home visits she’d took him on, didn’t always necessarily feel  _ pleasant _ . He’d seen more gross things than he thought possible for a relatively peaceful town. Been puked on. Bled on. More than once he’d ended up having to stay out all night, finally collapsed into bed, only to get a call that he was needed. And yet. “I feel like I’m doing what I’m meant to. And I don’t have to give up music, either.”

“You can be passionate about more than one thing, you know,” Ienzo said lightly. 

He was right. But still, after feeling so much apathy for so long in the Organization, having the motivation and the willingness to heal and create made him a touch anxious. 

“Shall we head back?”

“Yeah. Think I need a nap. Fucking skateboarders.”

“In another life you’d be one of them,” Ienzo said.

“I hate that you’re right.”

* * *

 

The egg whites Demyx was whisking didn’t want to fluff up right. Despite the tremendous ache in his arm. Sometimes he regretted helping Ienzo cook, because Ienzo always gave him the jobs he himself hated. Like grating cheese. Or, in this case, whipping meringue, even though they had a  _ perfectly good _ electric mixer that could do it for them. 

“How does it look?” Ienzo asked. He peeked into the bowl. “Almost. Not quite.”

Demyx groaned and switched arms. 

There was a vaguely pinched look to his face. Demyx knew he’d been waiting a long time for this day, so he really should be acting like less of a pain in the ass. Still. It really was hurting. “...You still anxious?”

Ienzo took the bowl from him and started to put the topping on the lemon pie. “I realize it’s illogical, but that doesn’t make it  _ go away. _ ”

“They’re going to love it. I know they will.” 

“Part of me feels like I’m rubbing salt in just-healed wounds.”

Demyx wrapped his arms around his waist. Every muscle in Ienzo’s body was fraught with tension. “They think about what happened all the time,” he said in a low voice. “This is closure. And you know closure can hurt a little sometimes.”

“I suppose.” He sighed. “Would you mind letting go of me? I’ve got to put the pie back in.”

Dinner now was far different than it used to be. There was no more dumb hierarchy. It was easier than ever before to talk to everyone. He felt more at ease. More at home. Dilan found great amusement when Demyx regaled him with the day’s injuries.

“Kids always have some new way of hurting themselves,” he said. He chuckled. “For your generation it was frisbees. We must have confiscated dozens of the damn things when the castle was open to the public. Still, must be odd being on the other side of such gap for the first time.”

“...I guess so. You know. I still don’t feel grown up.” He’d had a birthday recently, his twenty-third, and yet every day he went out to help people he always felt like he was pretending to be mature. 

“Truthfully, one never does,” Even said. “It took me long enough to come to terms with it.” 

The food was good, just like it always was, though Demyx noticed Ienzo ate far less than he normally was wont to. He reached beneath the table and squeezed his hand. He cleared the empty plates and was back in time to watch Ienzo explain his plan in full.

“I’m sure you all know by now what I’ve been working on,” he said. “I’d like to present it to you now, before I turn it over to the committee for approval.” He got up and retrieved the roll of plans and his written works. He smoothed out the blueprints in front of them. “It’s a garden. For those who fell.”

Planning the memorial had taken months of meticulous research and engineering. Ienzo was so thorough and thoughtful in the way he’d drafted every last blade of grass. Everything had a history, a symbol, a meaning to it. He’d chosen several sets of blooms, one for each type of loss incurred during Radiant Garden’s struggle with darkness--those killed by the initial fall, those who became Heartless, and lastly, those who had fallen because of their research. He’d chosen the breeds for their symbolism, and for how well they would keep and take root. Each flower would represent one soul lost; at the back of this garden he imagined a wall with all their names, as well as books with more information about each person lost.

Seeing it brought tears to Demyx’s eyes, and he could tell the others were moved too, though more stoically. Ansem reached over the table and took Ienzo’s hand. “That’ll do.”

* * *

 

The summer consisted of impossibly long days and longer nights. All of them at the castle did their part, and the committee helped too, when they had the time. Demyx found himself making better friends with them. It made the weeks of soreness and sunburn worth it. Moreso, to see the weight of guilt finally ease from Ienzo’s shoulders. To see him bloom.

Demyx was happy, probably for the first time in his whole life. He had a home now, friends, and a boyfriend he adored. Yet he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something still hurt inside.

It came to him one August night. A crash of thunder woke him up from an aqueous sleep. Ienzo stirred but remained deeply asleep, thoroughly worn out from the long day in the sun (not to mention their erstwhile lovemaking). Demyx couldn’t help but shake the feeling he’d woken up from a nightmare, though what exactly he couldn’t say. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. 

Trauma was a lot like dud firecrackers--they didn’t go off until they wanted to. 

He went to crawl back in bed, but the light of his gummiphone caught on a sheaf of papers, neatly laid on top of a couple of volumes of the apprentices’ research. He reached for it. For a second his head swam as the old runes came into better focus.

Demyx hadn’t really looked at this thing in nearly a year, not since he’d regained his memory. He’d been too worried about Ienzo, and then after all that, busy enough that it faded to the background. The paper crinkled faintly. He could just barely feel a cool, rainy breeze against his overheated skin.

“Dem?” Ienzo mumbled sleepily. “You okay?”

He shut the light. “Just too warm. Go back to sleep, babe.”

* * *

 

He could not stop thinking about it. Through days planting in the garden. Through tending to more skateboard injuries. Through a small party that the committee had invited him and Ienzo to. Through it all.

On their first day off in weeks, rather than rest as he’d planned, he took the papers and went down to the old study room. Bits of various projects Ienzo was working on sat in neat, organized piles. Demyx took the cushion off the chair and sat on the floor, the score in front of him. The sunlight was so warm it burned.

They stared at each other. 

He opened the first page. He remembered when this paper was new and soft still. Struggling to keep a ruler level to draw in all those lines, hundreds and hundreds of them. The slightly bitter smell of the ink. The weight of his first sitar--lighter, smaller, the soft grain of it. 

He’d made progress, but he hadn’t fully processed it. He’d seen his past as something foreign and separate from himself.

If the words of it were hard to read, then playing it was next to impossible. He tried to summon Arpeggio. His hand trembled. It came at last, hitting his thigh with something akin to a smack. “I know,” he said to it.

Words were heavy, but Demyx had never been much of a writer. There should have been something interesting in seeing his old compositions. Nostalgia, or even embarrassment at how amateur they were. He felt none of these things.

His younger self’s emotions bled from each movement, each less contained than the last, reflected in the odd meters and rhythms scattered all throughout, the awkward keys. To play it felt like being cornered. Like having his heart ripped in two. He’d felt so much pain and sadness and fear, but above all, stark loneliness. This diary hadn’t been so much of a composition as a cry for help. 

He hadn’t thought he’d make it out of the war alive, after all. 

But he had.

Demyx had, and so much more besides. That was the important thing. 

As he played, he felt the heartbeat of it. The strings of the present and past wove together, and once he was through with the old score, he pushed it aside, and began to work on the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read, left kudos, commented, or shared this story. I have read each and every single comment, and I really appreciate all the kind words and excitement. I'm glad you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> This is the end of the linear, plot-driven story. I've been working on another series of loosely-connected shorts in this world, "Beyond this Existence: New Life." I hope to get the first short out sometime this week, if anyone is at all interested. There is also the companion piece from Ienzo's perspective, "Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint," which is three chapters from completion. 
> 
> Thanks again for joining me on this adventure.
> 
> -A


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